Finale

I sincerely hope this story is going over well...

******

Time came calling shortly thereafter. And he was indeed, timeless. He had a youthful face, though his beard was gray; arthritic hands that retained speed and dexterity. He wore a gray robe, smoked a hooka and had a tendency to glide instead of walk. He also didn't say much.

He arrived for brunch, and Algernon brought out a tray containing tea, yogurt, lemon-poppyseed muffins and chocolate eclairs. Time tucked in with muttered thanks.

Meanwhile, Christina helped Death set up a chessboard in the parlor. It was typically grand, with intricately carved marble chessmen, and ebony inlays on the board. Though the day was perfectly warm, the fireplace ran full tilt. She quickly realised it was just for ambiance and gave no heat.

Algernon (who was doubling as manservant that day) guided Time into the room shortly thereafter and everyone sat down with a stiff, formal air.

It was Death who broke the silence. "Now Time, I only requested your company on a business matter. You see the lady over there?"

Time didn't even glance at Christina but nodded anyway.

"Well, I've God's permission to train her in as my assistant. A Lady Death, so to speak. She's got the cane, the robe, the immortality. But without your blessing she'll age forever, an unpleasant prospect. What do you say to removing her from your grand design?"

Time looked at Christina for a long moment, then said to his friend "win the game," with a gesture at the fresh chess match. Algernon moaned at this foregone conclusion and he and Christina were cursorily dismissed.

******

She saw nothing of her mentor and Time for nearly a full week. They stayed in the parlor, playing chess over her fate. Algernon delivered Time his meals at the door, spending the rest of his days in a huff over the dirth of compliments he recieved.

Christina therefore spent most of her time outside with her daughter, watching the trains. They never moved. The almost full one needed twenty-five more members to fill the quota. The porters were quite bitter over Death's long vacation from the job, though they were all very polite.

But at last the dull week was through. Late one evening, during supper, the two chess players emerged into the hall, and Death announced "I've won."

Then Time approached Christina, who stood nervously. "Hold still," he said, and reached out to her neck. He carefully pulled a thing chain she'd never seen before up and over her head. And suddenly a weight she'd always carried as if it was natural was gone.

In his hands, Time held a chain of metal links. The colour of the metal slowly shifted from silver to copper to gold and then back. It had been around her neck always, and she'd never known. Now it was gone, and Christina knew why Time glid everywhere. She felt she could all but fly.

Death watched in curiosity, and then said, "if you don't need that chain, may I keep it for my collection?"

"Be my guest," Time replied, and Death disappeared into his paneled room to find a place for it. Algernon escorted Time to the door and life resumed its normal course. For a few days.

******

Then Christina started accompanying Death on his errands. And it was a strange experiance, to descend the stairs after weeks only to find the world still caught in the glow of the Icon Effect.

The first day she simply observed. The Flanders sisters, who'd gone skiing against all reason that day. Jak Gard, the notorious cat-burglar of CableTown, finally brought to ground by the long arm of the law.

The second day, Christina was allowed to carry Death's scroll as they went from place to place. The train was filled, though only Isabella watched it drive away.

Then Death became the observer, leaving Christina to do everything herself. It was a miraculous job, and she adapted swiftly. He lost no time in getting her a list of her own, telling her to deal with as much as possible before calling it a day.

To her annoyance, the double doors would not swing open at her approach the way they did for Death. So she simply left them open, to be closed when they both got off work.

Her job was simple for days, dealing with everyone from a drowned girl in a river to a man killed over a game of snooker. Then she collected an old man named Omar Cline, killed in a back alley of Hyvar for his shoes. He was quite vocal about the cause of his plight, and Christina tuned him out in annoyance.

"...It's all that bloody Frank's fault," he was saying vehemently as they ascended the stairs. "We traveled as friends, watched each other's back. This woulld never have happened if he'd been around today. But oh no! He abandoned me on the streets during Easter. Cast me aside like last week's garbage. Left me to rot and stole a horse. After all we went through, for him to pull a stunt like that... No chance he's dead yet, I suppose? Damn it, I knew I'd be first in the grave..."

He sank into an awed silence as they passed through the Cathedral and down to the station. But just before he boarded, Omar Cline asked "keep an eye out for him, why don't you? Remember me when you meet him. He's a young man, though he looks about fifty. Red hair. Army deserter. Frank Gordon." Then he was gone.

For the next few days Christina was extremely distracted. She'd gaze into the distance, wasting hours on silent consideration. She all but ignored Isabella and Algernon, and scarcely said two words to Death.

One day, he finally got fed up and brought her into the parlour for a chat. "Did I make a mistake? Does it turn out that you haven't the guts for the job after all? What is wrong Christina? I can hardly help you if I don't know the problem."

She stared at her pacing mentor in miserable confusion and explained her meeting with Omar. Death sat down and gazed at the ceiling. Then said "you took it upon yourself to become Lady Death for your daughter's sake, as I recall. Before that, you raised her alone in an underground slum. Where was your husband all that time, hmm?"

Christina squared her shoulders and said quietly "I wasn't alone down there. I had Lee. And Frank wasn't my husband, though we would have got married if the war hadn't interfered... I loved him. A lot. He got conscripted into the army and I only realised I was pregnant after he'd gone. I wrote him a letter begging him to return on leave and marry me, but it came back unopened, stamped with M.I.A.

"When my father found out about my condition, he threw me out. I couldn't get any work. I'd heard there was a P.O.W camp in Hel, and went there to ask after Frank. Lee was a friend of mine, and he followed me. Tracked me down, got a job and a little place for me to stay until Isabella was born.

Then police called for a lockdown, and we got trapped in Hel. Lee lost his job, I couldn't find work. We became beggars with the rest of them and got to living from day to day. In doorways mostly. Lee said he loved me. I believed him, but somehow couldn't forget about Frank. I was so certain he'd been prevented from coming home somehow. He was in a different camp, or hospital or behind enemy lines. Or trying to find me.

"The thought kept me going awhile. But I forgot about him in my concern over Isabella. Forgot Lee too. Hardly mattered, compared to her. And now I hear that Frank was just a deserter. And I want to find him, ask him what happened. I want to live it all again so that I can do it right, but it's too late isn't it?"

Death stared at her. She stared at the floor. This abbreviated life story hinted at so much misery. No wonder she'd agreed so swiftly to the idea of being his apprentice. Now she was having some sort of regretful relapse. And if he could talk her out of it, everything would turn out fine.

******

Outside, Isabella stood still and watched the trains. They filled quickly these days, putting the porters in good spirits. Already one was nearly full and the other hadn't yet returned.

The porters liked Isabella, with her quiet ways and keen observations. And she liked them, cheerful and content. All at once her own life had become comfortable and almost frighteningly beautiful. She enjoyed the fact that it was a small world. She'd already discovered that if you walked beyond the station, into the hills, you'd be on your way back to the Cathedral in short order. It was a lovely feeling of enclosed space, coupled with the vast sky and Death's opulent house.

She's long since come to the conclusion that she never wanted to leave.

Inside, on her way past the parlour door, she ran into Death coming out. Beyond, she could see her mother weeping. It filled her with alarm, but Death prevented her from entering. "Come with me," he said quietly, "Your mother needs some space."

"what's wrong with her?" the little girl asked as she followed him into what he termed the library. It was twice as big as the entrance hall, and a maze of shelves. The roof was glass and lamps were abundant.

Death selected a small book and sat down in a comfortable armchair with red velvet upholstery. "She's been re-evaluating her life," he replied honestly. "She's just realised she wasted her love on the wrong man, and the only person who really cared about her is never coming back. It's upset her. She'll come to terms with it in a few days. Don't worry."

"Now," he said, pulling up a small stool next to him, "come here and pay attention. Today, you're going to learn how to read."

*********THE END*********

Here ends this story. I hope it entertained, and the idea was good. Depending on feedback, I will either continue to post my experiments or not.

Short story in progress

Part three.

******

With the go-ahead given, Christina was next led into a small paneled room with a table in the center. Death touched one of the panels and it slid back to reveal a glass box, which he carefully moved to the table.

"Now," he said, "comes the difficult bit. I've got another staff for you, just made. But it kills the living; so if you touch it now you'll die. You've got to trick it into registering you as deceased. It can only kill you once. And that's what this little contraption is for."

The box had little for detail. Even the pegs it stood on were glass. The two sides Death had touched were clear, as was the top and bottom. However, the other sides were different. One was tinted pale red, the other pale blue.

"To handle the staff, you must be immune to it," Death lectured. "This is the ticket. It will hold your soul for you. Only place your hand against the red glass to draw your soul out, and then (if you can function) place your other hand on the blue to regain it. If you hold both sides at once, you'll start looping in and out of yourself, which is probably harmful. I haven't used it, so I wouldn't know. But don't ever remove both hands at once; there's a good chance your soul will get seperated, and I know that causes permanant damage. That's all you need to know... so whenever you're ready, Christina."

Fear rose in her as she looked at the little box. Doubts assailed her. "Will I be at all changed?" she murmured.

"You'll never die,' Death stated impatiently. "Otherwise no, no changes unless you cause them yourself. Get on with it or hit the road."

Christina glared at him, as he knew she would, and braced herself. Leaning forward she gently rested the palm of her hand on the red glass.

That was all it took.

First her memories drained away. The past, even five minutes, was forgotten. There was only here and now.

This lack of awareness didn't alarm her, or even strike her as odd. It had little importance. In fact, everything had little importance.

Her will to do things, to look, move around...that went away as well. Had she been thrown in a lake, she'd have made no effort to save herself.

The other still more intangible elements of her soul also got caught in the box. She was left standing there, hardly breathing, brown eyes utterly vacant. You could tell the box had something in it, as it was clouded over with purple-gray condensation. Death watched all this happen with great interest.

When several minutes went by, and it became clear that she was unlikely to move by herself, he stepped forward and removed her hand from the glass; then guided her from the room.

His staff was propped in the hallway, and her's had been put next to it. The only difference between them was that his looked extremely old,and her's was freshly varnished and just made. It all but had wrapping paper on it. He handed it to her without ceremony. In her state, she wasn't fit to appreciate it.

She took the staff blankly. Then her heart gave out and she crumpled to the floor. Death knelt and checked for a pulse. Found none. And no soul to stand up and be escorted to the station.

So he brought the glass box to her, thanking his lucky stars that he'd had the forethought to toss Isabella into the gardens. Then he positioned her left hand so that when he let it go, it fell against the blue side and remained there.

He didn't wait for signs of life, merely bustled off to the kitchens to ask his cook to pass the brandy. He'd read it was a good antidote to unusual shocks.

******

"Can I please let go now?" Christina asked groggily as the last of the coloured mist evaporated. She'd been there for over fifteen minutes.

Death tapped his steepled fingers together and deliberated. "You feel perfectly normal?" he asked.

"I'm quite alright. Just a bit tired is all. Now where is Isabella?"

"Still outside, and I can assure you she's fine. And you're apt to feel tired for a few days, considering you've just been killed-"

"-I think she should come inside now," Christina persisted, starting to grow anxious. Death, after swiftly examining the box, gave her leave to remove her hand and jumped up to fetch Isabella from the gardener's care.

Christina sat up and ran a hand through her hair, wincing as she encountered knots. Then she realised an angel was sitting a polite distance away, with a brandy decanter and a goblet by his side.

He was, for the most part, a typical church's depiction of an angel, with huge snowy wings and a white robe, though he'd rolled the sleeves up. His eyes were green and he had blonde hair, though he'd tied it back from his face. These were odd enough, but no church angel was ever depicted with a tall, puffy chef's hat.

"You're the chef," she stated. He smiled in response and poured her a drink.

"Algernon Barclay," he said with considerable pride, handing her the goblet. Crystal, she realised on taking it.

"Christina Abbott," she answered before downing the brandy and nearly choking on it. It had been a long time since she'd had spirits.

"I have to say I'm enormously grateful to you and your daughter," Agernon said when she'd caught her breath. "It was so dull before I had someone else to cook for. On a regular basis, you understand. Before, I'd usually have to invite old friends, and it's quite impossible to play host when you're cooking breakfast. I'm indebted to you. And I do hope you're enjoying the food?" he added anxiously.

Christina remembered Death saying he was tempermental on purpose, and smiled at the thought. "I've loved everything you've served so far," she said honestly. "And so has Isabella."

No more was said until Death came back with the girl. She said curiously, "mother, what are doing on the floor?"

Death cautiously picked up the box to store out of harms way as Christina said "just resting dear. Now come along with me. We'll go for a walk and I want to hear all about your day..."

(And that's where I stop today)

A bit more writing

Now for part two.

******

When enought time had passed for the sun to start setting, Frank finally risked pulling off his kerchief and dunking his head in the nearest horse trough. After mopping his face dry, he glanced about for Omar, but his slippery friend had gone. With the gathering dusk softening the glow of the Icon Effect he cast the sodden cloth aside. If he worked fast, he could bolt town before nightfall. What he needed was a horse.

As of yet no one had come out to check on livestock, so Frank poked about the backbuildings of Hyvar until he found a stable and pasture. He knew a little about horses from his short stint in the army, so he quickly caught and harnassed one. Being a small man, he had to climb the fence to mount the stolen animal, which took a few tries to get right.

Then he aimed for the fields that bordered Hyvar and galloped away. He had no real qualms over what he'd done. After all, there were two others left and no one had thought twice about how well he was doing all those years.

When he reached the ford at Elm River, Hyvar was a distant glow on the horizon. And tomorrow that will fade and we can live in peace for ten more years, he thought in satisfaction. His eyes still ached.

The ford at Elm River was an unmanned raft tethered by a rope to two posts, one on either side of the river. It was primitive and rarely used, but Frank had no intention of registering at a proper bridge. This way was illegal and dangerous, but he was listed as a deserter, and he wasn't sure how long it took after a war to drop those charges. Better to use an unorthodox bridge, than be in jail or executed.

His destination was Scorsaw, usually referred to as the City of Dogs. It was a useless, miserable place, the poverty center of the world, where people lived in tents and drank river water. A reject like Frank would be more than welcome.

******

When Christina came to the top of the stairs, it took her eyes a few minutes to adjust. She was standing in a vast hall, filled with rows of pews. The stairs were situated just behind the pulpit. It was a church, only far grander than any she'd seen. In truth, it was a cathedral.

Then Isabella caught sight of the stained glass windows, and all but flung herself to the floor. Once free, she ran to the wall and gazed at the vibrant colors in awe. When Christina came to get her, she said "we'll stay here, won't we? Mother? I can't go back down there now. Tell me we're not going back."

Christina stared at her daughter in surprise. She'd never strung that many words together before. She glanced at Death's expressionless face and said quickly, "I'm sorry dearest, but we can't possibly stay. This place is for the dead..."

Then she stared at Lee, faithful Lee who'd followed her to Hel and done his best to help her and Isabella. He didn't look dead.

Death laughed then, and said, "you're a bit off-base, lady. This is a vast building, but it could never hold all the souls in the world. This is my home. Outside is where all the dead must travel on. If you'll follow me..."

On the far side of the hall stood two large double doors. They both swung open of their own accord as Death came toward them. One led into another room of the Cathedral. The other went outdoors, onto a sloping, grassy hill.

They all went down it, and at the bottom there was a train station. Two trains waited; one entirely empty, the other packed with people. It was to this one that Lee was directed.

"Now sonny boy," said Death in relief, " say bye-bye to your lady friend here and climb aboard. Answer the Porters questions honestly and accurately and enjoy the ride. You'll be judged at the first stop...or maybe the one afterwards. I can never keep them straight. Just don't dawdle."

The emaciated young man turned to Christina and said an awkward goodbye. Then he added "I hope you'll miss me, now I'm leaving you. Spare me a thought. If you can." Then he went inside. The train remained in place.

Death turned and walked back toward the Cathedral, pulling a scroll of paper from his robe's only pocket. Christina, thankful for the distraction, followed him, craning her neck to see what he was reading.

Peggy and Doris Flanders (ski crash) The Grande Hotel, Oprano
Jak Gard (gunshot wound) The corner of 9th and Monteverde, CableTown

Christina stopped reading in horror. Death noticed. "It's a rough job, takes some getting used to. But it's not so bad. Humans die, but their souls are just sleeping afterwards. Until I wake them up. That's what the staff's for. I escort them to the station, and the porters handle them from there.

"They're angels actually, but don't ever call them that. They find it demeaning. And Time helps. He let my land out of his loop, so I can take a vacation and never fall behind. Unless I take it in your world, which is against the rules.

"But why should I be telling you all this? You shouldn't even be here. So where do you want to go? I'd be happy to drop you off, it's almost certain to be on my route."

Christina was at a momentary loss for words during this speech. But she realised what the final question meant. It meant trying to live again, trying to make the world go her way and make a place for Isabella's prosperous future. It meant trying to carve out a place for herself. It was an idea that made her head hurt. She'd tried it all before and ended up on the streets of Hel, dying in th sulphur-laced air of Easter Sunday.

Not again, she thought. So she said "couldn't we stay here? Just to rest and recuperate. Don't send us back, not right away. We'd never make it." He's death, he doesn't care, she thought as she looked at his face. Growing desperate she added, "I'd work for my keep. There's got to be some job for me; anything would do. I just don't want to go back out there yet. What would happen to Isabella?"

Death interupted her at this point. "The only help I need right now is an extra pair of hands. And I doubt you're game to play Lady Death and collect souls. So you must return. It's that simple. Are you willing to take on an apprenticeship to me for Isabella's sake?"

The color drained from her face as she considered it. "I thought so," he said bitterly. Then she glanced at her daughter, who'd wandered back up the hill, and was staring at the windows yet again.

Her heart rose withing her. Yes, she'd take the job. For her child's sake, she'd do anything. She returned her gaze to Death, resolved. "Teach me."

******

Being apprenticed to Death was, in truth, no great difficulty. The fact was, Christina's life had never been easy; she'd often struggled hard just for enought food to get by. Though she felt a certain amount of guilt over her choice, it was quickly replaced with relief.

First, Death guided her to the bath, and found a spare robe for her while her nightgown was washed. Then after Isabella was given the same treatment, they were brought to the dinng room; a vast hall with over 20 chairs pulled up around a trestle table. It was a ridiculous amount of space for three people. And Death didn't touch the food, though it was delicious.

"Who does the cooking?' Christina said. It seemed a safe question.

"An angel," said Death, who was busy making a pyramid of cards. "Brilliant in the kitchen. He acts very tempermental, because he thinks that's how chefs are supposed to behave. But he's a great conversationist, once you get used to his little foibles. Good company."

A short time passed, then Christina tried a more daring question. "Don't you... I mean, can you eat?"

Death shrugged. "Never tried. Never had the slightest urge to. But I entertain on occasion, which I couldn't do if I had no cook."

******

The next morning, Death let Isabella out into the inner courtyard, which was complete with orchards and wild gardens. "Don't leave the paths," he cautioned. "My gardener is a poltergeist, and he'll torment you for days if you put a foot wrong. He's invisible too, so don't go looking for him."

Inside, Death took her mother into his office to sort out more details. Again, it was a ridicuously large space for one person to use. Lots of little tables, desks and chairs. A candle on every surface, and scarcely a foot of flagstone visible under all the rugs.

First, he wrote to God, asking permission for the employment of a Lady Death. The reply came ten minutes later, and was very enthusiastic.

Dear Death,
Jolly good idea. Go right ahead. 'Thou hast my permission' and all that.
Sincerely,
The Man on TOP

Christina stared at this letter in perplexity. "This is the word of God?" she asked.

Death chuckled. "Yep, and his handwriting too. Said he was too busy to waste time on high-flown words. The earliest scribes didn't like that much. So they re-translated his speeches and the new books looked more meaningful and important, so the style stuck. Never would have guessed, would you?"

And Christina considered it and started to laugh.

******

(Have to stop again. You may have noticed the gloomy atmosphere is all but gone by the end. This is the stuff I wrote after the block passed. This made the story take a very different direction, and I'm sorry that the opening was so misleading. More soon)

A bit of writing

And now to bite the bullet and place a short story I have written on this blog for comments and criticism. It is called The Apprenticeship of Lady Death, and it is the longest short story I have yet written. I started it in January with no clear idea in my head where it was going. I had just listened to the albums Easter and Join Hands at the time it began, which was a heavy inspiration. Then I suffered writers block and didn't return to it for a while.

Reading over the complete work, I've decided it is a respectable enough attempt to let others read. Word of warning: it is set in an alternate world I didn't take the trouble to properly envision. So at times it may make no sense. That does not bother me; I was not going for realism. Without further pontification...

The Apprenticeship of Lady Death.

******

It was Easter Sunday and the streets of Hel glowed. Sulphur danced on the wind, smearing against window panes and obscuring lamplight. The inhabitants of the city stayed indoors, praying for the close of day. The city was underground, but few had lost their innate sense of time.

It was Easter Sunday and the streets of Hyvar glowed. Most people stayed inside to avoid the disorientation such an effect produced. They waited for the day to pass and read their books. The children were dazzled and begged to be let out, but they were universally ignored. Few adults were comfortable with this occurence, called the Icon Effect. It passed by every ten years and they did their best to ignore it.

But the beggars couldn't. The homeless people had to ride it out and suffer the brightness as best they could. Thankfully the day was thickly overcast, muting the glow.

Two of these beggars had camped in an alley with cloth tied over their eyes. They were dressed in ragged tan uniforms like soldiers, for that was what they'd once been. They leaned against each other back to back, and one had not tied his blindfold properly, for his eyes were streaming.

There names were Frank Gordon and Omar Cline.

Frank was the one with the eye problem. He had a shock of red hair and his face was unnaturally lined and haggard for a man in his thirties. He cursed and raised a hand to his face, rocking back and forth in agitation.

Omar, sensing his friends discomfort, began to crawl away from him. He was a much older man, with hair that had turned gray long ago and a flat face. He needed glasses but couldn't afford them. He crawled till he bumped into a wall, then halted. By tomorrow, this would all be a bad dream.

When he realised Omar was missing, Frank called for him, but he was ignored. So he started crawling in widening circles feeling for him. It did no good and only made him lose his bearings.

******

In Hel almost everyone lived as beggars, but they also mostly lived in houses. That day, only three people were on the streets suffering the sulphur-laced air. The glow that surrounded man-made objects by itself was almost beautiful in a place usually so dark. But the sulphur was deadly.

Christina Abbott, her daughter Isabella and a man called Lee St. Cross sat in the wide central square of Hel, where the breeze was unobstructed and therefore a little clearer. They sat in a row and in front of them stood a covered pot of water. Occasionally they would remove the rags covering their lower faces and dip them into the water to make breathing somewhat easier.

Because of the extreme heat, all three were lightly dressed. Lee wore only a pair of shorts and Christina and her daughter wore nightgowns that had probably been white, long ago. Christina had brown hair, roughly cut and uncombed since she had come to Hel just before her daughter was born.

Isabella was now six and was usually silent and withdrawn. She'd never seen such light before today, and the experiance drew her slightly out of her shell as she gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the Icon Effect. Her mother wiled the time away by fingercombing the little girl's hair, brown like her mothers.

Some hours passed and then Lee sank to the ground with labored breath. Christina crawled over to him, but there was nothing she could do. She sat beside him until his last breath had come and gone. Then she held her daughter close and gazed bleakly across the square.

Isabella didn't understand what had just happened, or why her mother was suddenly so upset. All she noticed was the cloaked figure coming toward them at a sprightly pace. She wriggled away from Christina and pointing, said "mother, look."

Christina jerked her head up to see a black cloaked skeleton with a cane come marching toward them. He stopped by Lee's body and gave it a push with his staff, saying "alright, up you get. No, you're not quite dead; yes, I am Death. And there's lots more like you out there, so I haven't got all day to dither with you."

Lee rolled over and moaned in confusion. And Christina remembered the old legend: that if you hung about dead bodies in Hel, you were certain to see Death come collecting. She'd seen far worse than an animate skeleton since living here. So she stood up and asked him "has a Frank Gordon ever passed your way? Sir?"

The eyeless face turned to her in surprise. "Lady, I've known a few Frank Gordons over the millennia. Care to specify?"

"He was a red-haired soldier. Has he died sometime in the last six years?"

Death tapped his stick on the ground, cracking paving stones as he thought. "No," he said at last. "If you haven't seen him, I'm not the cause. He the father?" he added with a glance at Isabella.

"Yeah," Christina said in a voice that spoke of total exaustion. Lee finally got to his feet and seemed quite oblivious of anyones presence. Death gave him a shove toward a sweeping staircase that had suddenly come into view. "Well, tell me about it next time we see each other. Me, I've got to get this sack of potatoes upstairs. Don't have time for chit-chat."

Both of them were surprised to hear Isabella's light but serious voice say "may we come with you?"

Death swung round to her and tilted his head to express puzzlement. "Are you suicidal?" The girl didn't understand. "Do you want to die" he clarified. She just shrugged, so he turned to Christina. "Well, it's a rare request. If you both want ot come I won't stop you, but you won't die. It's not my job to kill people. You humans are good enough at that. Just remember it's frightfully boring, and I'll not be sticking around to give you a guided tour. Keep up!" And he struck off toward the stairs, herding Lee ahead of him.

Christina picked her daughter up and made an instant debate. What was there to stay for? Nothing. And leaving would at least get them away from the noxious air and Lee's dead body. So she followed Death up the stairs.

******

(Being pressed for time, I'll not be completing this story in one outing. I'll get back to it as soon as I can)

Intro for blog no. 2 (dry title, isn't it?)

And so it begins... This is my other blog, the one that isn't attempting to sound professional. Obviously I can't talk about films, or books on a blog that expressly states "music review." That would just look indecisive, or sloppy, like I'd lost sight of my goals.

So, since I can talk about those things here, what was the last film I saw?

The Talented Mr. Ripley, starring Matt Damon, Gwyneth Paltrow and Jude Law. I watched it mainly for Damon, as I've greatly enjoyed all three Bourne films. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting. I'd heard it was "unsettling."

It was way more than that. When it started, I had a certain amount of sympathy for Tom, but scene by scene it was replaced with total revulsion. The film was beautifully shot and masterfully edited. There was not one wasted line or scene in the whole thing. Even the first ten minutes were full of little details that were key for what followed.

The script was very well-written, and the characters exceptionally detailed. Every actor was praiseworthy, and I loved the cameo role from Cate Blanchett (whom I'd previously never been able to picture as anyone other than Galadriel). The film as a whole was a masterpiece.

However I walked away from it rather shook up, shall we say. It was horrifying, and to be honest, I doubt I'll be seeing it again for a long time. Reminds me a lot of my reaction to seeing The Picture of Dorian Gray earlier this year. A wonderful film that I was glad to have watched, but now I think I'd like to put it out of mind for a while.

Here's the link for the trailer. I can't guarantee that it'll work, since people take things down from YouTube all the time.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pISZ6_0R3Ho

By the way, I've watched a ton of trailers (being a fiend for movies). And in my opinion, the one for Ripley is very well done. That's my two cents.