A Serious Quandry
I seem to reached a temporary impasse. I’m at a point in my story that seems to be dredging up old feelings. I guess I had forgotten why I had written the story. This chapter that I’m working on, deals with the thoughts hurts and the feelings that we sometimes buried deep inside of ourselves. It is a part of ourselves that can be ugly or transparent. The problem with the transparency, is that it actually hides more sinister thoughts. The interesting thing about us as a species is that there really is evil inside all of us. The only difference between many of us criminal, is that we are able to sequester those thoughts — hold them at bay. I thought what I would do, is to share with you the original text from the original story. If you’re wondering what I’m trying to do, I’m trying to translate the poetry into workable prose.
The four did not feel as though he was honest to say
They had only to dine with him as penance to pay.
So being hungry, to him their assent they gave,
He smiled, and threw something blinding that lit up the cave.
In an eye blink the four found themselves in a tremendous hall
As his minions attacked from four sides – them all.
Quickly, they were tied up and trussed up to wood poles,
From the ground a huge fiery pot rose with hundreds of bowls.
Golendor arrived in dwarfish red sheen,
To laugh at the group in a pot‑bellied scream.
“You fools,” he cried out in raucous mad laughter,
“Sahame bids you welcome to the now and hereafter.”
At that did the dwarf become the panther‑beast,
Whose claws and teeth glittered in the fire’s light of the feast.
The four struggled vainly against their tight rope,
Which only grew tighter as they fought against hope,
Until Rosenet realized that this couldn’t be,
And remembered what was said by Humbalt and Pyridee.
Both of them felt that this was a place of bad dreams,
Perhaps this was the weapon of Golendor’s schemes.
For what ropes would tighten no matter how hard you tried,
To free yourself, even if you were strong and alive?
So if to awaken was all he had to achieve,
Then all he had to realize was that his dream was make‑believe.
He suddenly awoke in a dank, musty cave,
The other three struggled, dozing in a heap.
To awaken each of one, a sharp prod he gave,
With a snort and a yawn, they all broke from their sleep.
“What, what happened?” asked Pyridee,
Egarot stammered, “I couldn’t get free.”
“As strong as I am, I could not break the rope,
I had begun to give up all hope
Until Rosenet pulled me away from the pot.”
Humbalt let out a slow breath, “So strange a dream,”
“Rosenet had his unicorn’s head, but the body of a man, so it seemed.”
“To pull us all from the grip of Sahame,
And bring us to this cave away from his game.”
“But is it all over?” asked Pyridee in fright.
Perhaps Golendor’s power comes only from the night.”
“Yes,” quipped Humbalt, “Perhaps we’re asleep,
A dream in a dream could bury us deep.”
“Oh no,” hissed Egarot. “An eternal slumber.
We would be lost, in Golendor’s dreamland forever encumbered.”
“How can we leave,” Rosenet whined,
“This cave is a room that’s a hole in my mind.”
“Well, that’s it!” cried Pyridee,
“Don’t you see?”
“All we’ve to do is to think our way out.
Remember the passages are inside, then out.”
But then suddenly, she was held by the creature, Golendor,
His powerful arms wrapped around her pinning her to the floor.
“Quickly, Rosenet! Think our way out!” shouted Pyridee.
“Before Golendor does something, hurry. Hurry, please!”
Swift as a flash, Rosenet used his dream legs,
To carry them out of the cavernous dregs.
His mind set free, he kicked at Golendor,
Only to kick against a rock on the floor,
The trio of friends jumped upon his broad back,
As he ran like the thunder to find their way back.
And like the wind, his mind raced forward to a faraway light,
A beacon that led them all out of their plight.
And sure as an arrow he flew to it’s core,
‘Til the countenance of a woman rose up from the floor.
In the center of the prison called Golendor,
A mind‑scream shouted in the ears of the four,
And they suddenly realized it was the spirit of Circe the witch,
Who saved them all from their prison – black as pitch,
And find themselves running did the four come to enter,
In a forest of orange and reddish‑dark trees in a center,
Of a land where the sun was as green as the leaves,
Of the land where they should have been.
For wish they did of lovely green trees,
Instead to face the form of Sahame once again.
“Aarghh!” he roared in his disdain.
“I cannot believe you passed Golendor’s reign!”
“But here you’ve to find yourselves out of this land.
With no maps to guide you or even Circe’s hand!”
“I’ll have my revenge on you Atlantean man
Or I’ll die in hell before you ever leave this land.”
So shaken were the four by the quick change all around,
That they wandered for a time before even one made a sound.
And look all around this strange land did they quell,
A feeling of dread that they’d never break this spell.