Dear Sweet Legions of Fans,
By the time you read this, I will be most likely cursing the heavens and inquiring of local holy men and theologians, “What kind of god allows this to happen??” Then, after I’ve released their lapels and begun shopping for sack cloth, ashes, and milk (we’re always running out of milk at my house), I will come to grips with the fact that I have lost both of my fantasy football league match-ups in week one. I made all the right moves, I started all the right players, and all I have to show for it are two humiliating losses.
With that in mind, I’ve pre-written today’s post so I can spend lunch re-building what remains of my once promising fantasy teams. This way, while I’m contemplating the pointlessness of my existence in a random, unfeeling universe (from a fantasy football perspective), you all can read another installment from “Is It Not Midnight?”
If you haven’t been following along here’s links to the previous posts:
Enjoy Part Three while I still have strength to post on this blog:
He sat up quickly, but a strong hand twisted his hair cruelly. Richard was forced to lay down on the crude stone table. He whimpered pitifully. The unseen adversary pulled Richard’s bound hands above his head and secured them to the stone with a metal clasp. It clanked but didn’t yield in when he tested his strength against it.
Two figures came quickly from beyond the candle light into Richard’s field of vision. They wore identical black hoods and robes. Beneath the hoods where their faces would have been, Richard saw pallid white masks. The mask on the left was blank and featureless. The mask on the right had a vaguely feminine suggestion of cheekbones and pouting lips. As they drew nearer, he saw specks of gold across the forehead of the mask on the right. Like stars, he thought. The two apparitions stood on either side of him. Richard couldn’t help but think the stone table was getting warmer. The starry mask on the right raised her arms with her palms upturned. She stayed motionless in that position. Time seemed frozen except for Richard’s breathing.
“Dear Children,” her voice was cool and clear. Many more hooded forms materialized in the candles’ glow, responding to her call. They too wore lifeless masks pure white. “I am the instrument of Our Father’s ancient knowledge. I kept His name alive across generations. I kept His Rituals when the putrid masses burnt his temples and sought to destroy His memory.” The hooded congregation let out a groan in dramatic sorrow. “You, O fortunate few are present at the dawn of a new era. Our devotion will be rewarded. After centuries in hiding, we will take our rightful place in the world. And life eternal shall be our reward.”
Drink it slow, now.