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Monday, July 25, 2011

Monday

Rheinholt, suspended by his thumbs with a sturdy hempen rope, swung in a slow, repeating arc over the pointy ends of heated, sharpened, iron spikes and contemplated his morning so far. Burnt toast, thoughtlessly delivered by the maid caused him to turn quickly to chastise her thus spilling scalding coffee in his own lap. A fire at the workshop meant the loss of a contract for 1000 marionettes. Shortly thereafter he had to cancel all further visits to his favourite mistress and subsequently dismiss the head of his household security for impropriety. He recalled the loud, official-sounding knock on the door that came immediately after he regrettably uttered, "What else could go wrong?"
Of course, he thought to himself, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.

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