"Hemlock, foxglove, nightshade three - /
Shield me from catastrophe. /
Silent lungs and final weeps. /
Send my monsters back to sleep."
Olden World, c. 1866: Shy Callum, the Seamstress's son, is an easy target for the village bullies. When Callum ac...
NOTE: Not sure about the pacing in this part. Too fast? Too slow? Please let me know. This one needs the most cleaning up.
Hear the bustle in the air Of the sunlit Market Square, Buzzing with activity — Watch the buyers moving free. There's the potter taking care With his stone and earthenware. See the baker up ahead Glazing cakelets, tartlets, breads. Look! Skycatchers selling birds, Songs in cages, sweetest heard! Starflies, butterflies in jars, Crystal beetles from afar...
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Callum's mother scans the stands, Only spending what she can — Living off a widow's wage Has its hard and heavy days.
Callum, by his mother's side, Closely follows every stride, Calculates the coins in change, Knows to never break the bank.
Finally, they reach the stall Selling fabrics, fit for all — Cotton, linen, silk and wool, Stacked in sheets or rolled in spools.
Callum's mother takes her time, Purchases some eight or nine Colours in variety, For her stressful seamstress week.
In the distance, clear in sight, Callum spots the Hunter's wife With her Bald Boys who wear caps — Still a brood of brazen brats. See them bicker, shove and shout, While the wares are knocked about. Now their mother vents her spleen, Lifts her hand but swats no cheek: "Stop it! Give your ma some peace!"
Peace — oh, yes — that final prize Gained by shutting vicious eyes. Yes, that antidotal Sleep — Remedy for little beasts.
Callum glares towards the Boys, At their mischief and their noise, As he whispers, parallel, Magick of the Sleepful Spell:
"Hemlock, foxglove, nightshade three — Shield me from catastrophe. Silent lungs and final weeps. Send my monsters back to sleep!"
...Watch the Bald Boys clutch their necks, Choking, wheezing from the hex, As they cry red-river tears, As they bleed from nose and ears — Gasping, gulping, gargling death, Dying for a single breath!
Now they squirm upon the ground With an awful tortured sound, As they stain the cobblestones In their grisly crimson tones.
Hear the Hunter's panicked wife, Screaming for some help, some life! But the buyers, stunned and shocked, All avoid that haunted spot.
Callum freezes in his place. He did not anticipate All this fluid, all this gore! All this damage! Please, no more! Oh, what terror! Oh, what dread! Oh, what trauma! Are they dead? All this redness! All Cal's fault! What a horrible result!
This was not the peace proposed. Sleep is painless. Here they choke! How does anyone revoke Toxic words that Callum spoke? Who will save the brothers three, Suffocating terribly?
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