Wednesday, December 16, 2009

The beginning paragraph of a newly penned great American Novel

Through the arctic ice fog, a humanly, albeit ghastly figure in agitated frozen repose came into murky view. Upon closer inspection, evidence indicative of a recent bloody transgression of mythological proportions plays out before the interlopers; a classic tragedy of man’s inevitable descent into folly. Before those of the living lies a man of obvious good breeding, perhaps of royal lineage, his cold bluish body that of an aged, but fit specimen. Nearby rests a two-wheeled contraption loaded to the hilt with gear of the kind which men of adventure rely. Herein lays a man who fought bravely as his gnarled features indicate a mortal that did not give up without a supreme struggle. Clues litter the grisly scene that confirm beyond doubt that when the question of his mortality was at hand in this frozen hell, he took up the challenge with both gusto and admiration. Amid the circumstance of his death knell, this gentleman took a valiant, lofty, although enigmatic step to alert the living of what can only be construed as a highly personal and grave injustice by employing the frozen ground as his parchment, his detached thigh bone as a rudimentary quill, and his arterial blood as ink in a final act of insurrection by scribbling the word, TUSCOBIA.

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