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Subject: Re: story 1.txt (1/1)
From: avoice <my@soapbox.org>
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Boy@FlyingHigh.com (Mercury) wrote in
news:00627852$0$28631$c3e8da3@news.astraweb.com:
>
> =ybegin part=1 line=128 size=3252 name=story 1.txt
> =ypart begin=1 end=3252
> Clippity Clop, Clippity Clop!! The horse-drawn cart on its way to the
> local cotton mill wound its way through the cobbled streets at ten
> minutes to midnight on July 4th in the year 1939. A warm, balmy night
> with a cloudless sky and no wind or breeze to cool the muggy
> atmosphere.
> Things in the world looked bleak, with greed and hatred spreading
> its dark mantle across Europe. What had this new arrival been born
> into?
> Tons of raw cotton, fastened in sacks, resting precariously on the
> back of the cart.
> The two massive Shire horses puffing and panting as they approached
> the final few hundred yards, their shiny brasses glittering in the
> moonlight. Like fireflies darting from side to side, hauling even more
> work for the down-trodden cotton workers of the Lancashire Mill known
> both for the quality of the spun cotton and the horrendous conditions
> the workers endured.
> The cart passed a row of terraced two up two down red bricked
> houses dated 1886, shown on a small tablet in the centre of the
> terrace.
> The families in the houses in bed, sleeping, tossing and turning,
> dreaming, maybe of a better life in the future.
> However, at No. 68, the time for sleeping and dreaming was held in
> abeyance, heralding the advent of a wonderous event shortly to
> occur.
> What was this momentous event? The arrival of the New Messiah??.
> No, not this.
> Suddenly the peace of the house was shattered by the wailing and
> crying of a new born child, 11 pounds 13 ounces of wailing, wet
> and sticky writhing flesh, a small mass of new humanity, screwed up
> eyes shielding themselves from the light of the gas mantle on the
> walls of the room. What was to be the destiny of this new arrival
> on planet earth?? Fame and fortune, a life of drudgery, a long
> life, a short life. Only that life itself would tell. The sticky
> little mass was quickly separated from its mother by some
> blue-dressed harridan wielding a pair of scissors. wet flannel
> dipped in a bowl of hot water sitting on the chair by the side of
> the bed moved and wiped the pink thing until all traces of previous
> habitat had been remove.
> Snip, Snip, and it was free from the bonds that had held it close to
> its mother for nine months, with a piece of cotton tied to finally
> close off the provision of life within.
> It was then determined that this mass was a boy, and that it was
> rather heavier than the usual new presence on earth. Wrapped in
> cloth, he, as we now know it to be, was placed in the arms of his
> mother, to be hugged, cuddled and generally covered with feelings
> of gratitude by his mother, having safely delivered a child whose
> future was, though not known at the time, to be one of great
> adventure, independence, a wish to be different from the masses
> that he would encounter in many decades to come, in places far and
> wide. Just as the boy fell asleep in the loving, caring arms, the
> last cart of the night trundled its way past the door. The house
> with the number 68 became quiet. The gas lamps were extinguished,
> and for a while peace and quiet covered the house, bringing it into
> line with its neighbours on either side. And so started the journey
> through life of one more addition to the human race.
>
>
>
>
> Attachment decoded: story 1.txt
> =yend size=3252 part=1 pcrc32=47aa4635
>
Now you are not bragging about your birth again, are you?
darkshadows
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