ONE TIME, A RED CARPET . . .
High drama! David R. Bunch knew his Aristotle! Moderan man walks toward his Stronghold 10. And then . . .
"The bedlam ripping and screaming, I hove in close, plop-plip-plap-plop over the homeless track. Had ever a King moved in more ignominiously? On his birthday!? Had ever a King on any day moved in more determinedly, or with better armor to last him through the long fray? The armor was I, in this case, new-metal the bulk of my bodily splendor, with flesh-strips few and played-down. The bedlam was the warning devices screaming and crying that some unidentified abject was moving in toward Stronghold 10's outermost wall. And that unidentified object had well better be no worse than neutral when it reached the "warning of the line" or it would be less than NOTHING in less time than thinking of it would require in the fastest new-metal brain."
From all appearances, Moderan man will be attacked by his very own Stronghold! Will Moderan man wilt at the thought that he might be blown to smithereens?!!
He will not. "The whitest knight of them all down on sword and shield, the shadowy things laughing and all the decent world doing its tears - how satisfying! To think of for a little while. Then my real rock self came back, the granite cliffs closed ranks, all the ledges, precipices, boulders, and big saw-toothed outcroppings stood up in thunder to be counted to the world and shadows were cast and lours big and dark as they could be were done while I push-button roared HELL'S FIRE! and HELL'S FIRE! In this case there wouldn't be anything to weep over, nothing tangible in front of the guns, when the terrible blasting was done. And even should there be, they'd just scoop me into some old disposal pot for scrap metal for a flesh-strip cook-off boil. To keep up and moving; never fall to the ground; never let them see any sign of a weakness - that's the only way to deal with this real world of evil, danger and antagonism most sore."
The suspense mounts!
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