Grim Tuesday
Smash Legend
There were four basic rules in the monastery.
1 No monk may enter the Door of his Desire
2 No monk may drink alcohol
3 No monk may make love to a woman
4 No monk may pray for himself
Brother Gordon has difficulty with Rule Number Two. He had been a monk at the monastery for twenty-five years but still he longed for a bottle of champagne more than any other pleasure. Dreams of the sparkling wine haunted him during the night, and visions of of it tortured him during the day. He longed for a drink.
This is not to say that Brother Gordon did not try to resist these urges. Oh no. He fought with the images of champagne that filled his mind but he couldn't get rid of them. He was in agony. The more he tried not thinking about champagne the more vividly the pictures formed in his head. One night, he could stand the suffering no longer: he knelt by his bed and broke Rule Number Four.
"Oh, god," he cried out. "Please deliver me from this torture. Give me a drink of grog."
Brother Gordon rose slowly from his knees and saw a large black key attached to his habit belt by a chain. He had never seen the key before but he knew at once which door it opened.
That night he lit a candle and quietly snuck along the corridor to the Door of His Desire. Without taking the key from his belt he inserted it into the lock. The door swung open before him. Greeting him on the other side, a flight of stone steps leading down to an enormous cellar. Brother Gordon quietly closed the door behind him and crept down the steps. To his delight he found that the cellar walls were lined with hundreds of bottles of the finest champagne.
Overhead was a large sign which said:
The poem was written out in full beneath the sign. It appeared to have around a hundred and fifty verses, most with four lines per verse.
Brother Gordon salivated. He had not had a drink for a quarter of a century. The bottles were calling to him like sirens. He could remember some of the poem from his days at school. It was about a sailor who was adrift on a ship that had run out of drinking water.
Like the mariner of old, Brother Gordon could not wait for a drink. He reached immediately for the nearest bottle but just as his hand was about to close on the bottle's thin neck, the cork shot out and sprayed the champagne all over the monk. The contents were entirely wasted.
He reached for the next bottle in the rack but to his horror the cork shot out like a cannonball. Poor Brother Gordon was soaked once more.
This time he decided to obey the sign. He knelt and began to recite the poem. Quickly he read but by the time he reached the end of Part 1, the demon drink began to call him loudly indeed. Oh yes. He tried to ignore it and read on:
Brother Gordon could not wait any longer. He ran to the wine rack to grab a bottle but it exploded in his face.
"****," he said. He dropped solemnly back to his knees and continued reading:
Brother Gordon's throat grew dry but he read on:
Oh, the word 'drink' nearly drove Brother Gordon to his wits end but he ploughed on until he had finished all one hundred and forty-four verses of the poem. The clocks in the monastery had moved forward half an hour since Gordon entered the Door of His Desire.
He lunged for a bottle, grabbed it firmly and popped the cork. He downed the contents quickly. Brother Gordon's head spun wildly. The monk would have liked another bottle but he was exhausted. He could not read even one more verse. He traversed the stone steps, locked the cellar door behind him and quietly made his way, unseen, back to his tiny cell.
The next night Brother Gordon was again tortured by thoughts of epervescent splendour. He crept silently along the corridor and let himself into the cellar of a thousand bottles once again. He knelt and recited 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' without stopping once. Then, with trembling fingers, he reached for a bottle of champagne. Before he could touch it, the cork shot out and sprayed him with the contents. The alcohol was wasted. He tried again and the same thing happened. The monk only had one option left. Desperately Brother Gordon began to recite the terrible poem for a second time that night:
The words tumbled out until he was finished. Immediately Brother Gordon reached for another bottle and grasped it firmly, as if to stop the bottle from rejecting him again. He removed the cork and drank the contents. Brother Gordon's head grew light from the bubbles. Once again he stole back to his cell. He knew in his heart that to get the third bottle on the third night he would have to recite the poem three times. It was the way this demon worked.
On the third night Brother Gordon recited 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' three times and was rewarded with a beautiful bottle of champagne.
On the fourth night Brother Gordon recited the poem four times and was rewarded with another fine bottle. On the fifth night Brother Gordon recited the poem five times. And on the sixth he recited it six times. Each time he was rewarded with an unexploded bottle. The verses spun crazily in his head:
Each reciting of the entire poem took around half an hour. By the tenth night Brother Gordon was growing tired. It hardly seemed worth reciting the 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner' ten times just for one bottle of champagne. But by this time the demon drink had him in it's web and he couldn't stop himself. He hesitantly made a few attempts at opening a bottle without reciting the poem the correct number of times but it always left him soaked, his thirst unsatisfied.
As the days passed Brother Gordon grew weaker and weaker. His knees were red from kneeling before the bottles. He looked along the rows of champagne and knew that this could not continue. More and more of each night was being devoured by the recitations. But he was hooked, he wanted to stop the repetitive poetry readings but his desire for drink was too intense.
Brother Gordon knew that on the sixteenth night he would be spending at least eight hours reciting before the rows of bottles. He would not be granted the virtue of sleep that night. Something had to be done. He couldn't stay up every night reading the poem. The poor monk was desperate.
On the sixteenth night Brother Gordon ignored the sign and the poem it had directed Brother Gordon too 16 days before, instead he moved to take the nearest champagne bottle on the shelf. It sprayed all over him wasting the contents, but Brother Gordon did not falter. He reached for the next bottle and the same thing happened. Quickly he moved along the racks, raising his hand to each bottle in turn. Explosions filled the air like shots from a repeating rifle as he hurried along the rows. The floor ran with champagne. His habit was drenched. But in the end every bottle was exhausted of it's contents. There was not another drop to be had.
He crept up the stairs for the last time and paused to look back. To his amazement he saw that the racks of champagne had gone and In their place were a thousand beds. On each bed lay a naked woman. Brother Gordon shook his head and made a vow never to return. A single verse echoed in his head as he left:
The monk hurriedly stepped out of the Door of His Desire for the last time. He reached for the key but found it was no longer hanging from his belt. The door had locked itself. The first rays of sunlight glowed from a high window in the corridor.
At that moment he saw a figure lurking nearby. It was Brother Theo, a fellow monk, who had been watching from the shadows.
"Have you been through the Door of Your Desire, Brother Gordon? he asked.
Brother Gordon nodded guiltily.
Brother Theo grinned and held up a black key. "I have prayed for my heart's desire and have the key," he said eagerly. "What will I get beyond the door, Brother?"
An image of the beds of naked women flitted across Brother Gordon's mind. "More than you expect, Brother Theo," he said. "More than you expect."
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1,634 Words.
Written entirely on 8/4/2010.
Inspired by 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
This came from me trying to write a story which didn't explain the characters, setting, time, and having a relatively simple but deep plot. To anyone who hasn't read "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" I highly recommend it.
1 No monk may enter the Door of his Desire
2 No monk may drink alcohol
3 No monk may make love to a woman
4 No monk may pray for himself
Brother Gordon has difficulty with Rule Number Two. He had been a monk at the monastery for twenty-five years but still he longed for a bottle of champagne more than any other pleasure. Dreams of the sparkling wine haunted him during the night, and visions of of it tortured him during the day. He longed for a drink.
This is not to say that Brother Gordon did not try to resist these urges. Oh no. He fought with the images of champagne that filled his mind but he couldn't get rid of them. He was in agony. The more he tried not thinking about champagne the more vividly the pictures formed in his head. One night, he could stand the suffering no longer: he knelt by his bed and broke Rule Number Four.
"Oh, god," he cried out. "Please deliver me from this torture. Give me a drink of grog."
Brother Gordon rose slowly from his knees and saw a large black key attached to his habit belt by a chain. He had never seen the key before but he knew at once which door it opened.
That night he lit a candle and quietly snuck along the corridor to the Door of His Desire. Without taking the key from his belt he inserted it into the lock. The door swung open before him. Greeting him on the other side, a flight of stone steps leading down to an enormous cellar. Brother Gordon quietly closed the door behind him and crept down the steps. To his delight he found that the cellar walls were lined with hundreds of bottles of the finest champagne.
Overhead was a large sign which said:
KNEEL
AND
RECITE THE POEM
'THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER'
BEFORE DRINKING A BOTTLE
AND
RECITE THE POEM
'THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER'
BEFORE DRINKING A BOTTLE
The poem was written out in full beneath the sign. It appeared to have around a hundred and fifty verses, most with four lines per verse.
Brother Gordon salivated. He had not had a drink for a quarter of a century. The bottles were calling to him like sirens. He could remember some of the poem from his days at school. It was about a sailor who was adrift on a ship that had run out of drinking water.
Like the mariner of old, Brother Gordon could not wait for a drink. He reached immediately for the nearest bottle but just as his hand was about to close on the bottle's thin neck, the cork shot out and sprayed the champagne all over the monk. The contents were entirely wasted.
He reached for the next bottle in the rack but to his horror the cork shot out like a cannonball. Poor Brother Gordon was soaked once more.
This time he decided to obey the sign. He knelt and began to recite the poem. Quickly he read but by the time he reached the end of Part 1, the demon drink began to call him loudly indeed. Oh yes. He tried to ignore it and read on:
God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends that plague thee thus! –
Why look'st thou so? - 'With my crossbow
I shot the albatross.'
From the fiends that plague thee thus! –
Why look'st thou so? - 'With my crossbow
I shot the albatross.'
Brother Gordon could not wait any longer. He ran to the wine rack to grab a bottle but it exploded in his face.
"****," he said. He dropped solemnly back to his knees and continued reading:
And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!
Brother Gordon's throat grew dry but he read on:
Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
Oh, the word 'drink' nearly drove Brother Gordon to his wits end but he ploughed on until he had finished all one hundred and forty-four verses of the poem. The clocks in the monastery had moved forward half an hour since Gordon entered the Door of His Desire.
He lunged for a bottle, grabbed it firmly and popped the cork. He downed the contents quickly. Brother Gordon's head spun wildly. The monk would have liked another bottle but he was exhausted. He could not read even one more verse. He traversed the stone steps, locked the cellar door behind him and quietly made his way, unseen, back to his tiny cell.
The next night Brother Gordon was again tortured by thoughts of epervescent splendour. He crept silently along the corridor and let himself into the cellar of a thousand bottles once again. He knelt and recited 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' without stopping once. Then, with trembling fingers, he reached for a bottle of champagne. Before he could touch it, the cork shot out and sprayed him with the contents. The alcohol was wasted. He tried again and the same thing happened. The monk only had one option left. Desperately Brother Gordon began to recite the terrible poem for a second time that night:
Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross,
About my neck was hung.
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross,
About my neck was hung.
The words tumbled out until he was finished. Immediately Brother Gordon reached for another bottle and grasped it firmly, as if to stop the bottle from rejecting him again. He removed the cork and drank the contents. Brother Gordon's head grew light from the bubbles. Once again he stole back to his cell. He knew in his heart that to get the third bottle on the third night he would have to recite the poem three times. It was the way this demon worked.
On the third night Brother Gordon recited 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' three times and was rewarded with a beautiful bottle of champagne.
On the fourth night Brother Gordon recited the poem four times and was rewarded with another fine bottle. On the fifth night Brother Gordon recited the poem five times. And on the sixth he recited it six times. Each time he was rewarded with an unexploded bottle. The verses spun crazily in his head:
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea!
Each reciting of the entire poem took around half an hour. By the tenth night Brother Gordon was growing tired. It hardly seemed worth reciting the 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner' ten times just for one bottle of champagne. But by this time the demon drink had him in it's web and he couldn't stop himself. He hesitantly made a few attempts at opening a bottle without reciting the poem the correct number of times but it always left him soaked, his thirst unsatisfied.
As the days passed Brother Gordon grew weaker and weaker. His knees were red from kneeling before the bottles. He looked along the rows of champagne and knew that this could not continue. More and more of each night was being devoured by the recitations. But he was hooked, he wanted to stop the repetitive poetry readings but his desire for drink was too intense.
Brother Gordon knew that on the sixteenth night he would be spending at least eight hours reciting before the rows of bottles. He would not be granted the virtue of sleep that night. Something had to be done. He couldn't stay up every night reading the poem. The poor monk was desperate.
On the sixteenth night Brother Gordon ignored the sign and the poem it had directed Brother Gordon too 16 days before, instead he moved to take the nearest champagne bottle on the shelf. It sprayed all over him wasting the contents, but Brother Gordon did not falter. He reached for the next bottle and the same thing happened. Quickly he moved along the racks, raising his hand to each bottle in turn. Explosions filled the air like shots from a repeating rifle as he hurried along the rows. The floor ran with champagne. His habit was drenched. But in the end every bottle was exhausted of it's contents. There was not another drop to be had.
He crept up the stairs for the last time and paused to look back. To his amazement he saw that the racks of champagne had gone and In their place were a thousand beds. On each bed lay a naked woman. Brother Gordon shook his head and made a vow never to return. A single verse echoed in his head as he left:
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
The monk hurriedly stepped out of the Door of His Desire for the last time. He reached for the key but found it was no longer hanging from his belt. The door had locked itself. The first rays of sunlight glowed from a high window in the corridor.
At that moment he saw a figure lurking nearby. It was Brother Theo, a fellow monk, who had been watching from the shadows.
"Have you been through the Door of Your Desire, Brother Gordon? he asked.
Brother Gordon nodded guiltily.
Brother Theo grinned and held up a black key. "I have prayed for my heart's desire and have the key," he said eagerly. "What will I get beyond the door, Brother?"
An image of the beds of naked women flitted across Brother Gordon's mind. "More than you expect, Brother Theo," he said. "More than you expect."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1,634 Words.
Written entirely on 8/4/2010.
Inspired by 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
This came from me trying to write a story which didn't explain the characters, setting, time, and having a relatively simple but deep plot. To anyone who hasn't read "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" I highly recommend it.
