A far-off horn sounded,
bright and brassy as a copper-zinc alloy,
but with a tinny tone to it - shrilly
it sang forth
like a klaxon announcing the coming of dragons, and you
could almost see the pennant hung trembling
from it,
a heraldric ewe
rampant upon it, vibrating
on its field of green, signifying
nothing - the dream
began.
I drew
my brilliant lance
of adamant gold, potentially
infinite in keen extent, from its cut
and colored glass studded carrying case
- which I wore about my waist, and which
was significantly longer on the inside
than out, to accommodate
the aforementioned dimensions of the lance (only
several of which were visible to the naked eye). Naked,
I held the lance out straight
at arms length and beheld the point,
potentially infinitely distant, yet
unwavering as a fixed star. The lance was symbolic
of my faculty of Reason, which was defective
but still under Warranty. I had to bring it in.
As I resheathed my lance, as my lance
slid home
in its wonted haunt, a pale girl
drew in breath and drew in, bearing
a tray with a brass ewer on it,
and wearing an ochre dress.
"Hower yewer doing,"
she asked, like an impudent
strumpet? So I took out my lyre,
set fire to it and strummed it. She melted
like butter - what a disgusting mess.
We ran to the castle, distant
in the distance, shimmering
and shrinking every minute
we drew closer in to it;
by the time we had drawn within
an acre's length, either we or it
had disappeared
into the scale of things
no longer worth considering, like aphids
and ants. She shivered
as a chill ran up her stiffening spine,
and straightened it. Her too, too
infirm flesh
had by this time thickened,
resolving itself into a to-do list
and she listed off on her own to pursue this.
I started,
started after her,
and I haven't stopped since.
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