Was it safe out there? After prying open the cellar door I peeked outside. I was met with a wall of faces and of bulging eyes and hands pointing and voices crying and stampeding towards me feet and legs.
I slammed the hatch shut again, locked it, barricaded it, quivered in fear. I shall stay down here for a while. Should anyone need to reach me, they may slip a note through the slat on my door.
30 November 2009
25 November 2009
Indecision
"Here," says the wizard, handing me a ladle bubbling with liquid. "Drink this."
What is it?
"Why, a magic potion!" He clears his throat. "Brewed painstakingly for many weeks, it is my finest work, a paragon of excellence and craftsmanship. May I draw your attention to its vivid colour, its subtle hints of elm and oak. No wizard alive could produce its better."
Yes. But what does it do?
"It works, my dear girl, as a sort of catalyst. Its exact outcome is difficult to predict, owing to its potency and great complexity. But there is a chance it will fulfill your dearest desires and lead to great happiness."
Just a chance?
He looks at me with impatience. "Well, yes, what do you expect? I did my best to filter out unwanted consequences, but there was only so much I could do. You must understand that in so potent an elixir it is impossible—it is against the very laws of nature!—to entirely eliminate risk."
What risk, exactly?
He sighs. "The potion may give you great happiness, but it may instead cause intense—though, I must assure you, shortlived—humiliation."
I look down at the ladle and at the eerie green liquid swirling within it. That faint whiff emanating from it—is that sweetness or is that rot?
"Well? Don't be such a coward, girl. Drink up!"
Still I hesitate. I bring it to my lips, then stop and lower my arm. If only I had more information. If only I knew for sure.
What is it?
"Why, a magic potion!" He clears his throat. "Brewed painstakingly for many weeks, it is my finest work, a paragon of excellence and craftsmanship. May I draw your attention to its vivid colour, its subtle hints of elm and oak. No wizard alive could produce its better."
Yes. But what does it do?
"It works, my dear girl, as a sort of catalyst. Its exact outcome is difficult to predict, owing to its potency and great complexity. But there is a chance it will fulfill your dearest desires and lead to great happiness."
Just a chance?
He looks at me with impatience. "Well, yes, what do you expect? I did my best to filter out unwanted consequences, but there was only so much I could do. You must understand that in so potent an elixir it is impossible—it is against the very laws of nature!—to entirely eliminate risk."
What risk, exactly?
He sighs. "The potion may give you great happiness, but it may instead cause intense—though, I must assure you, shortlived—humiliation."
I look down at the ladle and at the eerie green liquid swirling within it. That faint whiff emanating from it—is that sweetness or is that rot?
"Well? Don't be such a coward, girl. Drink up!"
Still I hesitate. I bring it to my lips, then stop and lower my arm. If only I had more information. If only I knew for sure.
22 November 2009
Familiar Things
Each day I walk into my classrooms and I sit where I sat last week. I squint at my prof from the usual angle; see the usual side of his head. The people around me (who are always the same) say some things they've said before. And then it so happens that the lecture has ended and I walk out the very same door.
(Inevitably, of course, there is given some new information. But I note it down with the pen that I always use.)
(Inevitably, of course, there is given some new information. But I note it down with the pen that I always use.)
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