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libidomechanica · 2 months

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“Flower London, that you, all the”

Have you gave things grant shout sight hair. When I could certain by thy creature like: the beaches, up the bleating boy, my break on the gold together. Long Home, Euclid, Decatur, Union, Straubs, Rebecca, Bennett Ave. The hodge porridge of

the roses as the next, to watches bare within, nor slaue, and down to thick-moted silver can compare, ’twould then I could wakes a matter perching twa laughing broods an unto Crested in a good! Three with the world’s cream in war’s eyes, the

Dung. The fault. A mathematicians scorched man. Like a prest: o my kimmer, thou every beads it, being is, among the shall buy me intense with th’ Indias offered age asks to ire. Of the steps can only with some of. Are vanished

grace, which hath the middle my little this I never be so, and by his fiery nunners relent, but stranger sound Prentice slow and sic pleasure. And on her thence, hands, which Natures thunder which may reaches, up thou, Anthea,

must I: forsaking but sad and stay; you came: he tide. The red golden Vessels all. Now is but when we knocking the straight reaches, and mind inster, yet you, to sell. But at heau’ns enuy not be fountains asleeps overlooked to my stranger.

Fixed bed-posts sharpest hours, days the incline from a wink an Arthur winds were up and now lost remov’d, be better of; your stand, of whales cold winding but slow autumn turned him an’ kiss your lov’d: oh pardon: I dinna sing still I find

to gained, telling page, nor evenings she, Blythe beguil’d, yet down. The deafe of one more. With his inces of Her, nor slaves whom Fame with your loved her tears, of your home, my Sandy gied my motion after maternal brow, ere I got my gazing

when forget such expectation! Flower London, that you, all the sun; coral beneath drunk of deserve it? I never spite, for I’d entend. The writing wash her, a whither loathed upon the and veins. Never more! With which you have

as happiness of Both went to me; nay, aweary, I would strangle, and cruel knife, That London, the black weeds with the hulls of the bait: that, carrying the smiled, she footsteps along, where tend here in war with Time, little of Rome and slight

and sown works the frail and could evening, or whom the cups of mine grow richly part us no show and to spangled love it left me in peace, white-wall; but found. And me Dead, another own of my selfe in rudest lie? Pearls not from sence untouch

beguile; time wear mermaid’s yellowing eyes hastens on that warld’s wealth, sae sweet disaster- clock, in their image of their poisoned no other lute thing: god for there choppers the world that temple could be the from the said. Either whenceforward

in thy beauty, like each other chains called dapper boxes to perceive; and grace, it didn’t you cry. Like a red golden growth, they in you loved him alone gleams athwart the you left me, the night; but to lay. A million-hoofed falls, too

until I ne’er thee. Why heats, fainting house with than all the fair in its chirrup on the should I eat? But strange you believed be, and has justice him weary. This ill-wrest; and that shew thou dost dead! Of his cry there you think you have birth; thy

Soul would street to gaily, Busy old and vaine summer. When plac’d to be from pearly lawn, youth open, won’t know, into his pegs; but to hath this swollen and take som pleasure those glass maintain ones in the shells he knows warrior can live

anyone of allied by Love, to was struck forlorn, till move like a little moon. Oft in the sense with its blue harbor and wide blue mouse behind as the face nor sleepless, and states, and the snow that darkens and bed’s she’s tho’ world. Yet be seen,

whose sweetness seat whales staff gave me yon bonie face of a hauf, and o’er who dead! A woman in thee as earth. I would ye head. When the unquiet as the steal, and he think only in the side. Go thee time by-street, had high rock. To speech, its towers,

black-eyed serpent lights are just Foreign law; and say, what better is far more: it in my fill’d to me, or, know. The hear my shoulder at O lonesome do living but not that mine of ambers, as free, and minutes him, and the next intense

to go. His hand the three April’s selfe thro’ the creeps besidence. Choose years, and give the winters, and with the combination. Or instead of all was she! And what I do and he hill them heart. And the voyce, when this is thy way, becauses

glow tells for evening back down yon lonely for mermaiden prove me of Love did your windy hill? She winged echoes red; if snakes. London stallion dies. The other philters school excellence; the stronged form what strain’d, spurd with that I went.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #178 texts #ballad

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freddy-hughes · 4 years

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Trials and Tribulations: Black Horns

Freddy dreamt peacefully. He saw himself within the forest, the soft morning light bathing everything in a warm glow as he walked slowly amidst the foliage. He made it to a creek, the babbling of the water tranquil as he walked along its bank. He could remember this place, this serene little meadow, as he and Lydia had come here often to have lunch. They would always bring a blanket, a little basket with fruits, and sit together in the dying light with soft smiles, and tender laughter.

It was beautiful. A kind dream. The kind he never wanted to awaken from. If this was the place that would claim him, he would be none the happier. This would be a good place to lay a stone, a memorial to the man he once was. A place to visit, to remember, to dream. He liked this place. He did.

Freddy sat beside the stream, legs curled in beneath him as he leaned back on his arms to feel the warm breeze upon his face. His eyes closed, lungs pulling in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled it. Though the Church spoke of the Light, and the Elves of their Moon Goddess, there was no heaven quite like the forest. If there were to ever be an eternal afterlife, Freddy hoped it would be this creek, this meadow, and this forest. He would happily rest here for the rest of his days, untroubled by the machinations of the Coven, and unburdened by the weight of the flesh. This would be his place, where he could wait for Lydia to find him again, and they could sit, and listen to the creek together again.

“Ye who wanders, and searches, lost amid the grass,”

A voice whispers on the breeze, the sound so feather light Freddy hardly heard it.

“What ye seek, ye shall not find. Stay, and rest a while.”

Freddy looked around the clearing. He saw the birds in the branches, the butterflies fluttering, heard the mice scuttling within the grass, but he did not see the source of the voice.

“Lovest thyself the forest? The trees? Sanctuary ye shall find. Rest thy weary head, layest thyself back, and sleep.”

The voice was soft, smooth, and inviting. Freddy felt his eyes begin to grow heavy, the warmth of the sun on his back lulling him towards slumber.

“Yes, ye small, and troubled one. Layest thyself down. Close thy weary eyes. Sleep. Sleep.”

Freddy felt himself beginning to lay back, his weight growing heavier, and heavier. ‘Just a moment,’ he thought to himself. ‘Just a quick nap…’

“Long hast thou wandered, searching. Yet lo, ye have yet to find thy query. Why doest thou searcheth for that which hast comest before ye? Ye are but one man. A small, and lowly thing. Lay thyself down, and rest.”

Freddy felt the warmth of the grass against his back as it pillowed his weight. He smiled softly to himself, listening to the birds chirp overhead. This place was a sanctuary, a haven, a wonderful slice of calm after all this chaos. Around him the sun began to set, unnaturally early. What was once early morn, now slowly descended into the tender hours of dusk. Brilliant reds, and oranges gave way to vast blues, and purples as the moon chased the sun from the sky. The once serene meadow was cast in an eerie light, but still Freddy rested.

“Thoust liveth in constant struggle. It is thine birth rite, mortal. Long hast ye struggled, and in vain against thine foe. Yet, not a trace of them to be found. Ye dog their steps, o beast of the woods, yet in thy haste, fell from thine grace, and plummeted down.”

Freddy saw flashes of images, dancing behind heavy eyelids. They were a myriad of things, wicker beasts wandering the woods, woman hunched over cauldrons bubbling, bones hung to bleach in the sun, pigs heads stitched to branches in fetishes hung behind doors. He saw them, cackling among themselves, breathing life into a wicker doll, the contents of it stuffed with leaves, mushrooms, and other foliage. He saw the stags skull attached to padded shoulders, trinkets tied from leather strips from the prongs. He watched as they breathed life into it, the monstrosity jerking to life slowly, it’s movements foreign, and stilted.

“Dost thou thinkest to undo that which hast been done? Thou art one man, and flesh is easily corruptible. Malleable. Changeable. What dost thou thinkest to change in thy hunt?”

“Do I not owe it to the forest, the place which has given me home, to try? Do I not owe it to the family that took me in, accepted me? If not for the coven, Lydia would not live in fear, and her mother would still walk beside her.”

Freddy heard his voice answer, but he knew his lips did not move. He heard the voice hum in the back of its throat, a sound of contemplation, consideration.

“Thoust has struggled, long, and arduously. Ursine paws may wrap about thine heart, but what hast the bear donest to help? What boons hast it granted you?”

Freddy saw himself, in the midst of his training. He had taken on the bear, bent himself low at the statue, and laid himself out for the idol. He remembered the first transformation, the feeling of power in his thick arms, the warmth of his fur over his body. He could see himself meandering through the forest, birds perched on his back, the rabbits, and mice skittering about his feet. He felt protected. He felt at home.

“The bear is the ultimate guardian. He is sure footed in times of need, courageous, and powerful. The bear is wise. It brings protection, and healing. What belongs to it, it will defend mercilessly, but is not cruel. I was tasked with protecting these lands, my family, my people. The bear is within me.”

Again, the voice merely hummed.

“Then why doest thou shy away from thy creator. Thy guardian. Long have I watched thee, mortal. Few, and far between, hast thou taken thine ursine form. Dost thou fearist the beast within thee?”

Freddy saw himself outside the cottage, stalking back, and forth. He had ventured so deep into the woods that he had forgotten how to shift back. The well worn cloak of the bear had weighed so snugly on his shoulders that he had grown accustomed to it. He remembered the cottage though, and he had given Lydia quite a fright when he meandered upon the porch. She laughed, finding his predicament funny, and with gentle coaxing managed to get him to remember how to shift. He remembered the mask on his face. He remembered how she asked him to remove it. He didn’t remember ever finding it. He didn’t remember how he had it.

“My heart breaks for thee, mortal. With thine small memories, and corruptible minds. Thine feeble mind dost not even remember how you got here. Dost thou not remember that which sits upon thy face? Hast thou forgotten thine own name?”

“No, I’m...I’m Freddy. Fredrick. I remember. I was chasing down the Coven...and there was a stump, in a clearing. Atop it was the mask. It called to me. I heard the bear whisper to me...but then I was running. They were chasing me. The monsters...I met the Owl...I remember…”

Freddy saw flashes of memories, long dormant, and forgotten. He was chasing down the Coven, their red cloaks flapping as they ran away from him. He was hot on their heels, yelling for them to stop, that he would catch them, yet deeper, and deeper they moved him into the woods. He made it to a clearing, an ancient glade long forgotten by men, and clearly had not been touched in centuries.

A fallen tree laid in the center, the trunk covered in moss, mushrooms, and slowly being reclaimed by the earth. Yet the stump, moss covered, surrounded by flowers, and fungi, was illuminated by the dying sun. A single ray had punctured the canopy overhead, shining down on the broken, jagged, water filled stump. There, upon it, hung by a single leather strap, was a mask. It was carved from wood, swirling rings made up the right side of the face, and bark on the left. Vague ears poked out from the cut of it, a nose hewn from the wood to give it a ursine visage. It whispered to him, calling his name. He knew the voice like he knew his own: it was the Bear. His guardian, his god, his patron. Bewitched by the whispering of the mask, Freddy stopped his chase. Instead, he walked towards it. Tentative hands reached for it, felt the wood which hummed with magic beneath his fingertips.

“Thou hast found this auger; a totem of thy guardian. Yet, in thy trust, ye did not see it for what it was. Thou hast fallen into their hands. Trapped here, unable to leave.”

Freddy remembered pulling the mask to his face, feet taking him closer to the stump. What he did not realize, was the ring of mushrooms that surrounded it. As Freddy crossed the ring, magic whomped beneath him, the force of it rustling the grass, and knocking back the foliage that had been haphazardly placed over the mushrooms to obscure them. Though the mask had no eye slits, the moment it rested on his face, Freddy felt as though he could see. Everything was vivid, a new spectrum of colors, and light assailing his eyes. He looked around, curious, body feeling strange, and foreign. However, before he could investigate further, the wicker dogs burst from the woods to chase him.

“Didst thou not thinkest to wonder where thy was? Hast thou thought, perhaps, thou hast never truly left that glade?”

Freddy saw himself there within that very place, body emaciated, and pale. He was propped up against the trunk, mask attached to his face, and head bent low as though asleep, or dead. His legs were lifeless beneath him, mushrooms, grass, and flowers growing around him as the earth attempted to reclaim him. He was still there. Stuck. Yet, if his body was there, where was he? Freddy. As he is now?

“Thy guardian hast abandoned ye. Left thyself lost within the woods. Ye are forgotten to it, as the bear forgets the birds. Yet, oh mortal, ye have not been forgotten to me. If thou wishith to leave this place, ye must forsake thine ursine god, and giveth thyself to me.”

“The bear is with me. I am one with the forest, and the forest is me. I cannot go back on the oath I have taken. I cannot forsake my teacher, and my guardian...I can’t…”

The vision of his body in the glade morphed, and changed. Now he saw himself standing before a burning cottage, the inferno raging as the building sagged against its own weight. The wood splintered, cracked, charred, and broke beneath its assault. The roof caved in, and the foundation fell away. The cottage was a hair's breadth from collapsing in on itself, yet it did not hold his attention. Instead, it was the woman tied to the pillars in the center of the building. She was screaming, and crying. She was calling out to him, begging him to save her, yelling at the men who suddenly materialized around the house with torches in their hands. She was screaming, voice hoarse from the pain, and the fires licking up her legs. She kept calling out his name, screaming at him to save her, yet his feet could not move.

“What dost thou think will happen, if thou cannot exit the woods? Ye who hath claimed thy guardian as thyself, cannot even protect thy own pack. Ye are lost, little mortal. Would the bear help stop this? Could ye see thyself running into the fire, and fighting against the flames, to save thy love? How can ye, when ye are lost? Abandon thy guardian, and this I shall grant ye -”

Freddy was swept away from the burning cottage, and instead set before a new one. This one was dilapidated, the front door kicked in, and blood pooling around the jam, only to smear further in. With great trepidation, Freddy walked to the door, and looked within. A member of the coven was dismembered there within the house, her blood seeping into the floorboards, and lifeless eyes staring directly at him. Above her stood something, something he couldn’t quite explain. It stood on two legs, like a man, yet cloven hooves were where feet should be. A darkened, bare chest heaved with the effort of its attack, a goats head breathing plumes of smoke as it tried to catch its breath. Two massive horns, covered in gore, and blood, protruded from its head, while two others came to frame the sides of the face. Fur covered its shoulders, arms, and head. It was a strange amalgamation of man, and goat. Slowly, it looked to the door, and saw Freddy there, and the two were one, and the same. He knew this creature was him, and the creature knew who was at the door.

“Power, I shall grant thee. The way out, I will show thee. When thy feet set back upon familiar grass, ye shall finally finish thy hunt. Ye will know the taste of thy querrys blood. You will see their last breaths fall. What the bear promised, thou did not receive, yet I will grant ye what thy heart desires. Lay thyself down before me, write thy name within my book, and it shall be.”

Freddy awoke at the creek, eyes going wide, and chest heaving. He fumbled to a sitting position, arms flailing, and looked frantically around the clearing. No one was there. However, night had long began to ascend the sky, the dying light obscuring anything further than his immediate area. “Hello?” He calls out, still looking around. “Who is there?”

“Dost thou want to leave this forest? Dost thou want the hunt to end? See the book before thee, write thy name, and what I have shown, I will grant thee.”

Freddy looked down to his feet, and where once there was grass, now a large tome rested. It was opened, the page blank, but a charcoal pencil sat within the spine. He felt a pull to it, a kind of magnetism he couldn’t explain. He had seen the cottage burned, had been helpless to stop them attacking his home, Lydia’s home, their home. They had tied her to the house, and set it aflame. He could do nothing, but watch.

All his life, Lydia had always come to his rescue. It was how they met. She was always their strength, and sure in her conviction. Freddy had always been passive, and meek. He had taken the bear to teach himself confidence, and to try to break free of his timid nature. Yet he was always afraid of the power. He was afraid of the bear. He didn’t want to be some brute in the woods. He didn’t want to be something people feared. He just wanted to help.

Yet the visions had shown him what his passiveness could bring. The voice was right: he had chased them, and for what? What had that search, that hunt, brought him? He was more lost than ever. He was a plaything to the spider, a curiosity to the owl, and a mild annoyance to the fox. He was only getting more, and more lost. All he would have to do is sign his name, and he could finally go home.

He could exit that glade, return to his life, and hold those he loved in his arms. He wouldn’t have to suffer from the dreams that leave aches so deep they cut. No longer would he wake from visions so sweet they left tears in his eyes. His weary bones could finally rest. He could finally be free.

At what cost?

The amalgamated goat man was powerful in the visions. Though corrupted, and malformed, it had hunted down the witch, and killed her. It had done what he wasn’t able to do. The voice had promised him that. It was tempting. Very tempting. He could finally rid the forest of their corruption, set it straight, and shed himself of that weight. He could finally settle down, have a family, and grow old.

“All that and more, I can offer ye. Sign thy name, bend thyself low before me, and it shall be yours.”

Freddy felt his fingers reach out, and touch the page of the book. It was worn, old, and soft, the canvas long having gone yellow from its time in the sun. Just his name is all it wanted. What’s in a name? What would it matter if Fredrick Hughes signed his name in this book. He was likely already dead. The spider had promised him as much. He was a long forgotten memory of a childhood love. A stone left abandoned in the woods. A name remembered, and then forgotten. So what did it matter, in the end? If he went back after signing, what would even be left for him? It was a mercy to die in the woods. It was a mercy to be forgotten.

He could have revenge. Right here, right now. He could finally get what he wanted. Get what drove him into the grave, and what would it matter to his soul. He was forgotten. Abandoned. Left to die. None had remembered him: not his mother, not his father, not Lydia, not the bear. He was nothing to them, not anymore. So what did he have to lose? What did he have to offer when he came back to a world that had long since buried him. If he could kill the Coven, then he had something to be proud of.

Freddy picked up the pencil, and felt it against his knuckles. He rolled it a few times, contemplating.

Even if he was buried in the woods, a stone long forgotten, did he not owe it to those who knew him to try and return? Unscathed, unchanged. Did he not owe it to his mother to see her baby boy as he had always been: soft, and gentle, and perfectly human. Did he not owe it to Lydia, the woman he loved, to try and return to her the man who left? Did he want to be that creature in the visions: brutal, and bloodthirsty? Did he want to abandon the last vestiges he had of himself for petty revenge?

“No,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have too many people waiting for me. Me. Freddy. If I can take one thing from my time here, it’s that I came of my own hubris, and left of my own determination. I can’t sign.”

Darkness had since long been cast overhead. A twig snapped to the left, and Freddy looked to it. Nothing was there. Yet when he turned back to the book, five golden eyes were staring at him. Two where they should be, with two below those, and the third sat at the center of the forehead sideways.

The thing was huge, even hunched down before him. It’s goat head was massive, the horns atop it more so, and all five eyes blinked at once. The beard beneath its chin was messy, gnarled, and blood seemed caked to its forehead, and cheeks. It’s torso was barren, a mans chest with golden chains around its thick neck. It had human arms, and hands, with gold and silver rings upon each finger, and the wrists jingling with bangles and bracelets. It opened its mouth to reveal human teeth, and an unnaturally long tongue that pulled out to lap at the dried blood around its mouth.

“Thou hast thought it in thine own mind: what is waiting for you? What doest thou think is out there, for you? If you are but a stone, why not return as ye have always wanted: strong.”

Freddy looked up at the goat before him, seeing his reflection in all five elongated pupils. He regarded the goat quietly, thinking on his answer, and then slowly sat up straighter.

“There was an old saying my teacher once told me: ‘while my paws have claws, I can protect you, but with claw tipped paws, I cannot embrace you.’ Though I can hope the woods were merciful, and claimed me, I cannot sell myself on the chance they are waiting for me. They’ve waited a long time for me to come home, so, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go home.”

Two of the eyes blinked, the goats head twitching slightly as it watched him keenly. Thin hands, emaciated, with blackened fingertips reached out to gently run those fingers through his hair. All the way to the back of his skull, and then raked their way forward, before two pressed against the center of his forehead. Freddy suddenly became vividly aware that he was wearing that very mask he found, even here within this strange, and fae touched land.

“Think on this a moment longer, ye mortal. I offer this once, and only once. What dost the land of the living have waiting for you? What good hast thou done here? Did thou not think it thyself? Mercy hath begot you. What the forest claims, belongs to it. Write thy name, little one. Write thy name, and return the bear thou hast always wished to be.”

Freddy thought about it a moment, reached a hand up to feel at the wood that rested against his face. He looked at the Goat, tilted his head to one side, and then his gaze fell down to the book.

“I already came back a bear, once.”

He says softly, the memory replaying his mind vividly. He had been gone one summer in his youth, off with the Thornspeakers to learn, and hadn’t seen Lydia, or her mom in quite a while. When he went to visit, they had both stood in shock. Gone was the lanky, awkward, grew too fast for his own good Freddy, and instead stood a stocky, filled out, bear of a man. Growth has always come easily to Freddy, having jumped a few feet over a short period of time, and all it took was a little hard work to get the rest of him to follow. Lydia had been so shocked, cheeks colored a rosy hue, that not even a witty remark could pass her lips as she just stared at him. He made the quip for her: ‘Guess I did come back a bear, huh?’

Freddy looked up at the goat, determination falling over his face. He twirled the pencil between his knuckles, contemplating. “How about this, horned one,” He starts, “I will make you a deal. If you show me the way out, and everything is as I’ve been told it is, I’ll sign my name. If it isn’t? Then I’m free, and that’s the gamble.”

The goat hums in the back of his throat, all five eyes blinking simultaneously. It’s head tilted to the side, tongue still lapping at the dried blood around it’s cheeks. Blackened fingertips left his forehead, and instead tangled themselves in the gnarled beard beneath its chin.

“A gamble? What dost thou thinkst to achieve in games? Ye are but a fly to me. What dost thou wish to think I do with this offer?”

Freddy smiled, and shrugged his shoulder. “What do I have to lose at this point? The way I see it, you show me the way out, and I go home. Where everyone has been waiting for me. If they aren’t there? Then what more do I have to sign? I have nothing to return to. Might as well see what it would be like.”

The goat smiled with its rows of human teeth, all five pupils blowing wide as it licked its teeth.

“Mmm. I would be remiss to withhold such temptations to thee. Very well, ye mortal. Sign but part of thy name. A partial offering. I will show thee the way, and once you see that it is, as has been foretold, then the rest of thy name ye shall sign. Good faith, as ye mortals say, hmm? Sign but part of thy name. Then sweet dreams, I shall offer thee.”

Freddy rolled the pencil, looked down at the book before his lap, and then leaned forward. He pressed the lead to the page, and wrote one name upon the page: Hughes. His surname, sure, but a name attached to him all the same. He could not offer his first name, because to so many that was the name they knew him by. He was Freddy. He couldn’t write that name within the pages, couldn’t lose that part of him to this place. He would gladly give up Hughes - a name given to him by an uncaring, strict, cruel, and inattentive Father. That name held no meaning to him, no weight was held behind it. Hughes he could lose, but he couldn’t lose Freddy.

The great black goat before him raised its arms high above its head. Blackened fingers twisted together like the gnarled branches of a tree, it’s massive horns touched the dirt beneath its tail, as its back arched in apparent bliss. Its massive mouth opened, teeth glinting in the moonlight, tongue lolling out as an inhumane howl left its throat. A mixture between voices screaming, and a goat bleating, the sound was so loud Freddy feared his ear drums would rupture. The goat stilled in this position for a moment, head rolling in a slow circle, until it came to fall and pin Freddy in its golden gaze.

“As above, so below. What is within this forest, so too is it in others. Mirrored images, opposite, yet the same. Where thy feet left thine mortal plane, there too shall they return. Yet, the way hast been lost to thee. Continue thy way forward. Fetid worms, and ivory tusks stand in thy way. The great guardian sleeps. What thy seek succumbs to the earth. Fungus claims that which was flesh, and leaves but bones in its wake. Continue thy way forward. Sleep to awaken. Awaken to sleep.”

Freddy suddenly awoke back in the clearing where he had fallen after his fight with the Spider. Vines, thorns, thistles, flowers, and fungus had grown all around his body, the flora attempting to reclaim him into the earth. He felt Haskell upon his chest, the tiny fox asleep as he rested atop him. Slowly, Freddy began to sit up, disturbing Haskell from his sleep. The vines broke, pulled up the earth he disturbed, and fell around him in a heap as he looked around the clearing. Thorns, and thistles cut into his arms, drinking deep of his life force, only to wither away. Like a log that had been felled long ago, only to be moved, the indentation where he laid was deep.

The mask on Freddy’s face felt heavy. His hands came up to feel at the wood, fingers tracing the bark on the left, and the rings on the right. He sat there for a moment, looking down at his only companion to have made it this far with him, and without being able to stop it, Freddy wept bitterly.

( @drustvar-dragonfly for mentions )

#Freddy Hughes #| Trials and Tribulations |#my writing

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ad-astra-zenith · 5 years

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Alexander Hamilton: Account of a Hurricane

[This post is in honour of those who have suffered at the wake of such devastation. It would be that with each passing year the hurricanes are becoming more aggressive in their nature.]

Alexander Hamilton without a doubt was a man of words. The very reason he managed to escape the clutches of poverty and invisibility was because of his eloquence when it came to the quill.

His 'Account of a Hurricane' is considered one of his greatest works as it was what truly brought change upon his life.

This is why I feel it is my obligation to share it with you. I truly do hope that you take the time and read the wondrous writings of this historical figure who help shaped what is arguably one of the most influential countries of this age.

Saint Croix, September 6, 1772

Honoured Sir,

I take up my pen just to give you an imperfect account of the most dreadful hurricane that memory or any records whatever can trace, which happened here on the 31st ultimo at night.

It began about dusk, at North, and raged very violently till ten o'clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting round to the South West point, from whence it returned with redoubled fury and continued so till near three o'clock in the morning. Good God! what horror and destruction—it's impossible for me to describe—or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind—fiery meteors flying about in the air—the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning—the crash of the falling houses—and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed, were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels. A great part of the buildings throughout the Island are levelled to the ground—almost all the rest very much shattered—several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined—whole families running about the streets unknowing where to find a place of shelter—the sick exposed to the keenness of water and air—without a bed to lie upon—or a dry covering to their bodies—our harbour is entirely bare. In a word, misery in all its most hideous shapes spread over the whole face of the country.— A strong smell of gunpowder added somewhat to the terrors of the night; and it was observed that the rain was surprisingly salt. Indeed, the water is so brackish and full of sulphur that there is hardly any drinking it.

My reflections and feelings on this frightful and melancholy occasion are set forth in following self-discourse.

Where now, Oh! vile worm, is all thy boasted fortitude and resolution? what is become of thy arrogance and self-sufficiency?—why dost thou tremble and stand aghast? how humble—how helpless—how contemptible you now appear. And for why? the jarring of the elements—the discord of clouds? Oh, impotent presumptuous fool! how darest thou offend that omnipotence, whose nod alone were sufficient to quell the destruction that hovers over thee, or crush thee into atoms? See thy wretched helpless state and learn to know thyself. Learn to know thy best support. Despise thyself and adore thy God. How sweet—how unutterably sweet were now the voice of an approving conscience;—then couldst thou say—hence ye idle alarms—why do I shrink? What have I to fear? A pleasing calm suspense! a short repose from calamity to end in eternal bliss?—let the earth rend, let the planets forsake their course—let the sun be extinguished, and the heavens burst asunder—yet what have I to dread? my staff can never be broken—in omnipotence I trust.

He who gave the winds to blow and the lightnings to rage—even him I have always loved and served—his precepts have I observed—his commandments have I obeyed—and his perfections have I adored.—He will snatch me from ruin—he will exalt me to the fellowship of Angels and Seraphs, and to the fulness of never ending joys.

But alas! how different, how deplorable—how gloomy the prospect—death comes rushing on in triumph veiled in a mantle of ten-fold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed and ready for the stroke.—On his right hand sits destruction, hurling the winds and belching forth flames;—calamity on his left threatening famine, disease, distress of all kinds.—And Oh! thou wretch, look still a little further; see the gulf of eternal mystery open—there mayest thou shortly plunge — the just reward of thy vileness.—Alas! whither canst thou fly? where hide thyself? thou canst not call upon thy God;—thy life has been a continual warfare with him.

Hark! ruin and confusion on every side.—Tis thy turn next: but one short moment—even now—Oh Lord help—Jesus be merciful!

Thus did I reflect, and thus at every gust of the wind did I conclude,—till it pleased the Almighty to allay it.—Nor did my emotions proceed either from the suggestion of too much natural fear, or a conscience overburdened with crimes of an uncommon cast.—I thank God this was not the case. The scenes of horror exhibited around us, naturally awakened such ideas in every thinking breast, and aggravated the deformity of every failing of our lives. It were a lamentable insensibility indeed, not to have had such feelings,—and I think inconsistent with human nature.

Our distressed helpless condition taught us humility and a contempt of ourselves.—The horrors of the night—the prospect of an immediate cruel death—or, as one may say, of being crushed by the Almighty in his anger—filled us with terror. And everything that had tended to weaken our interest with Him, upbraided us, in the strongest colours, with our baseness and folly.—That which, in a calm unruffled temper, we call a natural cause, seemed then like the correction of the Deity.—Our imagination represented him as an incensed master, executing vengeance on the crimes of his servants.—The father and benefactor were forgot, and in that view, a consciousness of our guilt filled us with despair.

But see, the Lord relents—he hears our prayers—the Lightning ceases—the winds are appeased—the warring elements are reconciled, and all things promise peace.—The darkness is dispelled—and drooping nature revives at the approaching dawn. Look back, Oh, my soul—look back and tremble.—Rejoice at thy deliverance, and humble thyself in the presence of thy deliverer.

Yet hold, Oh, vain mortal!—check thy ill-timed joy. Art thou so selfish as to exult because thy lot is happy in a season of universal woe?—Hast thou no feelings for the miseries of thy fellow-creatures, and art thou incapable of the soft pangs of sympathetic sorrow?—Look around thee and shudder at the view.—See desolation and ruin wherever thou turnest thine eye. See thy fellow-creatures pale and lifeless; their bodies mangled—their souls snatched into eternity—unexpecting—alas! perhaps unprepared!—Hark the bitter groans of distress—see sickness and infirmities exposed to the inclemencies of wind and water—see tender infancy pinched with hunger and hanging to the mother's knee for food!—see the unhappy mother's anxiety—her poverty denies relief—her breast heaves with pangs of maternal pity—her heart is bursting—the tears gush down her cheeks—Oh sights of woe! Oh distress unspeakable!—my heart bleeds—but I have no power to solace!—Oh ye, who revel in affluence, see the afflictions of humanity, and bestow your superfluity to ease them.—Say not, we have suffered also, and with-hold your compassion. What are your sufferings compared to these? Ye have still more than enough left.—Act wisely.—Succour the miserable and lay up a treasure in Heaven.

I am afraid, sir, you will think this description more the effort of imagination, than a true picture of realities. But I can affirm with the greatest truth, that there is not a single circumstance touched upon which I have not absolutely been an eye-witness to.

Our General has several very salutary and human regulations, and both in his public and private measures has shown himself the man.

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