Netcees - FINAL FOUR: Eng vs Vulgar

Chapters Yet To Be Written

In white headcloth, black gown - no beads for decorating
The holy nun hovered next to the boy’s bed, she seemed to be levitating
Hamsho was wide awake. “Sister, can you tell me a story tonight?”
he fiddled with his thin blanket, eyes imploringly bright
Sister Greta was a rough looking woman with a gracious voice
“From the Bible?” She asked, waiting for him to make his choice
“No,” Hamsho replied. “That book is too thick... something else instead?”
She touched him on the nose, playfully. “Thick book? You have a thick head.”
the nun’s eyes suddenly became glassy. All of the candles blew out in the room
“I can tell you a story, but never repeat it. Not even from the tomb.”
Hamsho gulped and quickly nodded his head.
and his body seemed to sink a little further into the bed.

"In the land of Heliodor, there was once a boy, about your age
only he was slightly more brave, more cunning, and carried more rage
Their countryside was different from ours. The land was a series of books
big, small, and miniature - the roots of all jungles, forests, and woods
Hard cover books became mountains. The highest snow peaks
cold winds whispered avalanches; the sound of lies from old priests
Soft covers were swamps and springs. Treacherous for anyone wandering.
A wasteland awaited anyone who had an excessive want of things
In Heliodor, if a book was burnt, out of its spine grew a volcano
mercilessly hot as Sister Sandra’s jalapenos...
If a book was lost, it became a desert. The sky was made of saintly quilts.
clouds were clustered manuscripts, it rained when we felt pangs of guilt
and the pages filled oceans comprised of expired library cards
The life of a sailor on these seas, like any long read - the journey was hard.
if a librarian gave you a cold stare & said 'We’re closed,' a glacier appeared
The core of the Earth was laughter, and every frozen basin was tears
the holy way was so clear. Yet for the boy, he scouted through the clearings
& flew his kite over grasslands, harnessing the wind like a cowboy of the spirits
He found joy in the lyrics he discovered when he dug into the ground
consuming endless amounts of magical literature when a shovel was around
During a lightning storm, his kite was badly damaged, so he set up his tent
While digging small holes for the beam supports, he discovered a dark gem
He raised it up with a grunt; it turned out to be a heavy book made of onyx
The title was 'The Book of Darkness' with ominous medieval symbols on it
Thunder rumbled outside his tent. The book glowed, it started to shake
After he read through the first pages, the ground parted from a horrible quake
but he couldn’t take his eyes away, hundreds of pages, so enraptured by it
while he was spellbound, the landscape became a series of fractured islands
Angels and demons began attaching to his tent posts
They acted as bookmarks, tracking his moral progression as he got close...
...to the end of the book held in his red hands, where blood clung
He licked his lips, and found that he now had a forked tongue
But before the scholarly Devil could fully get to the boy, his time was spent
As the open book of the land suddenly shut upon his idle tent."

“That’s the end of the story, my child. Please do not repeat it again.
Just remember, for your own sake -
Heaven is the Table of Convents. Hell is the Index, the source of all sins.
I’ll try my best to raise you ‘by the book.’ This teaching is the best kind”
Hamsho, petrified, pretended he was fast asleep
Before Sister Greta got up to leave, she left the Bible and a kite by his bedside.