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LANFORD WAYLAND
A stately man who, with the interest in the arts and of literature, and who reeks of the glorious mankind's successes, that being the towers of cities and technology, lived in a barren land only west of Leincomtober.
He had a cottage in those hills, the whining whispers of reality ripped through the windows, and the everlasting faith in horror lay in bed. There was a strange, maddening sense that he had lived for the longest times. To any that behold the actual knowledge of the coordinates of his cottage go mad, so here I cannot speak of these numbers. The location, I can say, is a wretched hole, rambling in the articulate plains of England.
The house was made of oak wood, sturdy and smooth. The floor, as well, was made of that oak, and it was here that you could realise that the whole of the house was mostly covered neatly in furniture, either it being carpet or couch. The walls hung paintings of the owners before this man.
But though this man loved his house, he must die, for he had a rumbling and rambling feeling of depression and desolation in there. He wrote, under the faith that someone would find is rotting corpse,
"The crying songs of Gagnarotothoa could be heard, here in Leincomtober. Now, because of this horrible thing, I must die, since I cannot bear the torture no longer; yet do not read me an inarticulate soul of unprideful spirit, for by the end of my note ye will finally find out why I must die.
As honorable as I used to be, with pride and joy, very calmly, did I move here. But, after the temptation of the devil, I had the idea to kill a man!
Oh!-Let me just say that I have not done this for no reason! This other man treated me unequally, with little relevancy as to why. And methought, after many a spreading rumor, that he had stolen my wife! Nay! Had he done so?
This here was why I must kill the man! But it was only a week before I killed him that I sucked up to him--I complimented him, astonished him, cooked for him; I did so much for him that I cannot even count! And that night, whence entering his chamber, sealed it shut, and locked the door. I remember how loudly he screeched! And so, I began to worry about if the other neighbors if they heard!
I lay beside the door, waiting for him to stop screaming, but he did not stop! So I myself did not refrain from plunging my knife into his chest!
Oh, now I hear the ringing more!
That day, walking pass the streets, I heard many people talking about how the person who spread the rumor about him stealing my wife had confessed to lying! Now, I broke down. I collapsed onto the stone floor!
Oh! Oh, sir, I am sorry! Thy forgiveness I implore, so sorry an I! Oh, Lanford Wayland, mine own brother!"
Conclusion
© All Rights Reserved
He had a cottage in those hills, the whining whispers of reality ripped through the windows, and the everlasting faith in horror lay in bed. There was a strange, maddening sense that he had lived for the longest times. To any that behold the actual knowledge of the coordinates of his cottage go mad, so here I cannot speak of these numbers. The location, I can say, is a wretched hole, rambling in the articulate plains of England.
The house was made of oak wood, sturdy and smooth. The floor, as well, was made of that oak, and it was here that you could realise that the whole of the house was mostly covered neatly in furniture, either it being carpet or couch. The walls hung paintings of the owners before this man.
But though this man loved his house, he must die, for he had a rumbling and rambling feeling of depression and desolation in there. He wrote, under the faith that someone would find is rotting corpse,
"The crying songs of Gagnarotothoa could be heard, here in Leincomtober. Now, because of this horrible thing, I must die, since I cannot bear the torture no longer; yet do not read me an inarticulate soul of unprideful spirit, for by the end of my note ye will finally find out why I must die.
As honorable as I used to be, with pride and joy, very calmly, did I move here. But, after the temptation of the devil, I had the idea to kill a man!
Oh!-Let me just say that I have not done this for no reason! This other man treated me unequally, with little relevancy as to why. And methought, after many a spreading rumor, that he had stolen my wife! Nay! Had he done so?
This here was why I must kill the man! But it was only a week before I killed him that I sucked up to him--I complimented him, astonished him, cooked for him; I did so much for him that I cannot even count! And that night, whence entering his chamber, sealed it shut, and locked the door. I remember how loudly he screeched! And so, I began to worry about if the other neighbors if they heard!
I lay beside the door, waiting for him to stop screaming, but he did not stop! So I myself did not refrain from plunging my knife into his chest!
Oh, now I hear the ringing more!
That day, walking pass the streets, I heard many people talking about how the person who spread the rumor about him stealing my wife had confessed to lying! Now, I broke down. I collapsed onto the stone floor!
Oh! Oh, sir, I am sorry! Thy forgiveness I implore, so sorry an I! Oh, Lanford Wayland, mine own brother!"
Conclusion
© All Rights Reserved
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