My vagina smells like fish
There is a story about a prince who was lonely. One day, looking at one of his fields from the castle tower, he saw a maiden. He wanted the maiden, so he saddled his white horse and galloped to where she was picking strawberries. The next day she came upon a privately printed book. Its one illustration showed a winged animal of unidentifiable species, bearing a shadowy something upon its back as it plunged through waves of mist. Its destination was Ultima Thule, a region that, as she saw as soon as she began to read, made Olympus seem little better than a county fair for the gods, and the Elysian Fields but a country club for poets. This was paradise, without God, without cherub or seraph, without recording angel to grant permit for entry. One laid the body aside as one might lay aside clothes preparatory to bathing; but she gathered that it took superhuman effort for the self, thus stripped, to breast the waves or surmount the barriers that intervened between vision and attainment. It was in the cab, on his way home from Madelines apartment, that Benedict examined his checkbook carefully for the first time. The trip and the down payment on the car had brought his accounts to zero. And there was a payment due on the bracelet the next day. But what did it matter? He shrugged. He was a man of power. At the door to his apartment he wrote the cabbie a check, grandly adding an extra five dollars as tip. Then he went upstairs, pausing briefly to examine his tan in a mirror, and went to bed. Had Titus Wrixton lied to him or gotten the day or time of her departure wrong? Were the steamer tickets hed seen in her room a ruse of some kind? None of those possibilities seemed likely. Wrixton had been too swaddled in gloom to have mistaken the day or time or made the effort to concoct a lie, and the woman had no conceivable reason to have bought tickets she had no intention of using. Notevery boy and girl. Or did we have to get this far ourselves before we could make out the meaning of the light? Did Borges work, and Jarry’s, simply have to wait for the rest of us to catch up? Perhaps we had to go the Zen route before we could contemplate the statement, Pataphysics isthe science ... with equanimity (let alone delight), and wail for our learned Academies to convene Conferences on the nature of time before Borges’ “Tlon Uqbar, Tertius Orbis” became comprehensible? Will you take part in the contest? We stared at him. Nobody ever heard his voice sound like that, hard as iron. He said,While theres life there’s hope. I carry you as long as you breathe. The free men don’t leave their kind to die. This story is Mr. Kings first published fiction.* * * * Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul, but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. The wages of false prophecy is the same as the wages of sin: DEATH AND DAMNATION AWAIT YOU! He detached the item and placed it in a refrigerated container. Then he pushed it to one-side to await collection. Thus, Ignatius Bulganov Worthington acquired even more rich and highly nutritious food for thought. Sabina got to her feet and went to the door.I wont remain in silence, Mr. Dobbs, nor will my sisters — not now and not in the future. You and your Antis can count on that. "Well, maybe. Theres nothing really wrong with Neol'." She asked him haltingly about the barrenness of the landscape and the absence of neighbors..
