literature

From My Fertile Imagination 3

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ClockwerkMao's avatar
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Literature Text

I was walking through a little-known section of the park, on a part of the lawn that runs through a gulley, when who should I meet but Casey, hard at work writing something.

"Hello, Casey."

He was writing in one of those hardbound leather books that you typically associate with someone like James Barrie or Bilbo Baggins. The pen moved at a furious pace; I was amazed that the paper didn't ignite.

"Oh, hello, Chuck."

It was an old-fashioned quill, made from some strange feather I didn't recognize. A tall inkpot floated nearby. Every few seconds Casey's quill would run out of ink and he'd have to dip it in the pot. This happened in the blink of an eye.

"It's Charles. Where's your dog?"

After he had replenished the quill he would resume scribbling. Pages flew by, and I could only assume they were covered in odd fiendish sigils, though there was the possibility that he wrote in English. As he finished one volume he'd pick up another and begin writing in it.

"Grief? I left him at home."

I looked around him and saw two piles of books. He looked to be about halfway done, as there were fourteen books in each pile.

"Grief? Is that his name?"

"Yes. He gives me no end of it, so I decided to name him accordingly."

His writing began to consume my mind. I had to ask him about it.

"Why are you writing so many books?"

He finished the one in his hand and tossed it on the completed pile.

"Condemning souls is a stressful line of work. I find a hobby important to maintaining my impartiality."

"Impartiality? Is that a necessary quality among fiends?"

"Among Not-So-Nice Fiends, yes. Unholy Fiends are just jerks."

I could hardly disagree.
I hear that grief is pretty standard from a dachsy.
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Kickflip182's avatar
This is pretty neat. I liked your writing style.

Though why does this remind me of Death Note?