Ravings of a Textual Deviant

Hans and Gretchen gazed upon the gingerbread cottage, transfixed. Holding hands, they crept forward like frightened mice. At last, they were close enough to marvel at the detail of the smooth, baroque curves of icing surrounding spun-sugar stained-glass windows. Marzipan flowers graced window boxes; the shingles were shaved chocolate.

“Do you think it’s really candy?” Hans whispered.

Gretchen stretched out a tentative finger, but before she could touch the house, she was startled by a noise behind her. A stern-looking woman in blue stared disapprovingly.

“Gretchen Braun,”

It wasn’t a question. Gretchen nodded guiltily.

“The dentist will see you now.”

Yuri had launched the transmitter satellite at exactly the right moment. It sailed through the vacuum, coming to rest in its preordained orbit. The beacon came online precisely as planned.

He redirected his own antenna to take advantage of the signal relay while he was still in range.

“Comrades, I am pleased to report that the bird is in the nest.”

“Congratulations, Comrade,” replied ground Control. “And thank you.”

“Duty is the most sublime word in our language,” Yuri quoted, as he watched the earth dwindling beneath him. His misfired capsule soared out of the ecliptic, into vast, black space.

And so they were married.

They had slain dragons, climbed mountains, crossed searing deserts and battled pirates in order to be together. He had dueled with ancient wizards and taken tea with weird gods. She had slain her nemesis and defied a prophecy. They were meant to be together. As the hierophant pronounced the final blessing, they sealed their vows with a kiss that was legendary in and of itself.

The moment was one of pure and perfect joy; a memory to treasure for the rest of their days. Suddenly, from nowehere—

“Shit!” Max exclaimed, as the server dumped him.

Edwin the Marvel-maker—King of Sorcerers, Sorcerer to kings, and holder of myriad other self-bestowed titles—was at a rare loss for words. How could he approach his longtime business partner, Stephan the Mighty, with his latest proposition?

Edwin paced his tower chamber, muttering. “I want to enchant your weapon—no. How about I work some magic on your stick—definitely no! I want to bespell your shaft—there’s just no good way to say this…”

Later that night Stephan awoke to a strange noise. He opened his eyes and asked, “Pray tell, Edwin, what are you doing with my staff?”

Blame Thanks to Ed for the idea for this story.