Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Valley (08/10/06)
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TITLE: Llanfedr�s Doom | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gregory Kane
08/11/06 -
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The heavy brass bell hung lopsided in the church steeple. One of its supporting ropes had frayed, whittled down by the passage of time. On the day the last thread snapped, the bell crashed against its scaffolding. The chime echoed down the length of the village, even to the miller’s cottage at the edge of the rotting copse of beech trees. But no worshipper heeded the call to prayer. No one entered the sanctuary, not a soul raised his voice in evensong. All was still, reverent, unmoving.
The body of a small terrier lay entombed beneath the dining table in the grand house belonging to the mayor. The playful hound failed to heed the call to depart. Its young master struggled to return for her but despite great anguish of heart he was restrained by the strong arms of his parents. Confused and uncertain the pup snuggled down into the deep pile of the lounge carpet, hoping beyond hope that someone would come for her. Instead death came in a flood, encrusted bones all that now remained as a monument to inadvertent abandonment.
….///<…>\....
Life sprang up out of death. A torrent of potent energy flowed down over huge turbines, driving thick copper across the face of powerful magnets, generating a steady cycle of electricity that fed lustily into the national grid.
The boat floated gently on the surface of the water. Below in the depths a worm struggled for liberty, its body skewered by sharp metal, a chaotic break-dance that drew the attention of a passing carp. Up above a grateful angler felt the familiar pull on the line, a welcome portent that his family would eat well that night.
The mayor’s son filled the electric kettle and flicked the on-switch. A basset hound whined in anticipation, rubbing her smooth fur against his calves, hopeful that a biscuit from the tea-tray might be forthcoming. Outside his own children played noisily, retelling ancient fantasies of good guys and baddies. He pondered the ease with which he could now make a cup of tea. Years earlier his mother would have had to fetch a pail from the village well and thereafter heat the water on a temperamental oil stove. Now all he had to do was turn the tap and water flowed through underground pipes straight into the house. Likewise the mere depression of a button summoned invisible energy through hidden cables to bring light, warmth, entertainment into his home.
He still recalled the day they had all left the valley. No one had wanted to go but the decision had been taken at the highest level. Their tiny, isolated village had ceased to exist and the Llanfedr Valley Reservoir had sprung into being. Steam danced playfully at his nose as the water in the kettle came to the boil. There was no fighting progress; the valley had died that others might have life.
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