One for the Bulwer Litton Files
By Morrisa Sherman
When I was a child, I lived by the sea in a humble fishing village. The
old ones would tell us their aphorisms with knowing nods, certain that
we would embrace their gems of simple, folk wisdom as we would treasure
diamonds of great worth. With sagacity they would say "starve a cold,
feed a fever;" "don't look a gift horse in the mouth;" "cast not pearls
before swine," and of course, "let a sleeping squid lie." Oh, that I
had but listened to their advice! Little did I know that my fate would
be sealed in their words. How could I know what these seeming
natterings of the old could portend? How could I, a dewy youth, imagine
the horrors that await the innocent and careless? I, who am now the
lowest, meanest, and most wretched among us, I have fallen prey to the
merciless Curse Of The Tentacle!
Slime! Mr. Satan, or rash fiend!
Copyright © 1993, Morrisa Stanfield Sherman.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the author's explicit permission
