This is a very brief excerpt from my soon to be published manuscript, Sacrilege by Trumpet: If Only Once.
Chapter IIVXM - Bring Forth the Lampris
The wife of the thespian wept. The performance was beautiful, orange balloons billowed from the ceiling, all was restored for the carniverous crowd. All but, the indignity of the fallen valkrie.
"Why?" shouted a forlorn man, shirt torn from the stiff bristle, "the malignant disgrace us, the scorned swallow us whole." Another fellow, beseeched by the poignant words uttered by his transexual lover, fell to the floor (gin would be poured upon him in the coming days).
The thespian jumped, sword in hand, toward the pastuerized uprising. The contrite ran, their lurid echoes would ring for centuries. But, the rancor of the rakish remnants would bring about the duel that the dead did tell of.
"Gargoyles fell upon the rigid tales of Sire Herfrim; lacquer dripped beneath the dull dents of past lips, but circlular salvation does not find solice in this magnanimous edifice; constructed by those that consume not what they waste." These words halted all action. They spewed from the only sage to hearken the prolific matter that stood at hand.
The ribaldry would be spouted no longer; the forsaken would perish.
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