"Blasphemy!" The Old Fox rocked and swayed in animated disgust on the soap-box upon which he stood. "Blasphemy!" The group of on-lookers that had gathered on the street-corner gasped. "Beware, all of you! For in my paw I hold a narrative which surely ranks among the blackest of black!" He frantically waved a tattered sheaf of papers over his head. "Run! Run, I say! For the faint-of-heart dare not attempt to traverse these waters!" Several of the creatures in his impromptu audience took his advice, turning tail and fleeing. The Old Fox growled, regarding those who remained standing in the semi-circle around him. "Do you not know what this is?" he emphatically said, slapping the papers in his paw. "Why, the Dreadful has occurred! Despite our painful and cruel torture, that literary imbecile, SR Foxley, has again set his pen to paper. For the love of all that is holy, this time it is not merely a poorly-written and mentally scathing short story you must endure, but the inhuman last of a novella! Run! Please, for your lives, run!" "Before, the fool only attempted, and vainly that, to treat a subject of such remote significance that few would be disturbed by his disjointed and dismembered ideas. But now, oh people of fine retort, he writes a story of religious nature! Run! Run!" The street-side preacher stared incredulously at those who still remained. "Will you not go? Must I really illuminate the full extent to which this drivel, which we so generously call a story, will offend and blaspheme?" He stood, holding both paws upward, pleading to his audience. "Those things which you hold so sacred and so dear-- even your faith in that everlasting and loving God, and the things for which He stands-- shall be tread upon by the unholy and uncaring feet of this demon! "Oh, how wondrous it would be if he would at least stop there! But no-- even your heroes-- those martyrs you have loved and whose words are to you most holy of all-- shall again be beaten and destroyed before your eyes, words being placed by this reckless writer of the ridiculous in their sacred mouths which desecrate their spotless memory! "I tell you, friends, that even the God-forsaken Atheist shall take offense at this ugly man's truly amoral offering. He swallowed and placed a paw to his head, scouring his brain for something-- anything, that might convince the remaining few to leave. "The Holy Scriptures!" he screamed, raising both paws above his head. "The Word of God Itself shall be mocked and twisted to suit his wicked purpose!" He spotted a young mother in the audience holding a small child. "Woman!" He yelled, pointing an accusing claw in her direction. "Unless your son's faith is firmly rooted in those things that are Good and Righteous, I plead with you-- order you to spare him the horrendous punishment that this 'work' will surely prove to be!" She yelped and held her son tightly, running away from the crowd. The Old Fox turned to those still standing. "Is there nothing I can say which will convince you to make the wise choice? No-- here you won't be forced to witness scenes of a sexual or violent nature-- but this pathetic creature's use of harsh language and mistreatment of things sacred more than dispels any claim to sanctity this repugnant story may have had." He sneered. "Oh, this despicable man who fancies to think himself an author even attempts to raise in the intelligent audience's mind questions and issues of morality. But his approximations of conclusions and statements he thinks as such are either so cliched or so vague that the witty reader will likely be more confused than certain as to exactly what he, in his idiocy, attempts to prove." "Oh, what I wouldn't give for someone to put this person, who is apparently consumed in an endless state of oblivion and absolute mysticism as to his own folly, out of his misery in a most painful method!" "To my regret, the copyright sharks have either ignored or overlooked him to this point, and he has grown haughty in his elusion. Yes-- you will see that he still has gained no respect for others' intellectual property in that he disparagingly misuses the beautiful and meaningful poetry imagined by other, infinitely more talented minds." By now only a handful of diverse creatures remained to hear the Old Fox's rant. He eyed them narrowly. "Then there is nothing I can do to make you leave?" Growling, in one sweeping motion he raised the sheaf high over his head and threw it violently to the ground where it, incredible as it may seem, remained intact as a pile and hit with a loud 'slap.' He raised his fiery eyes to the shocked onlookers, a hooked claw pointed severely in their direction. "Then the sin be upon your heads-- I warned you!" He stepped off the soap-box and began limping away. "I will not endure this abomination. But if you must, I leave it to you to read the story written by that outcast and vagabond of authors, hell's martyr, who should more appropriately be named perdition. I give you the ignominious work known as... Gnade Street by SR Foxley Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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