Patrick

Some day (hopefully) there will be a nice long story set in this time period and involving these character. Until then, I'm just trying to develop them and they will each have little short stories. Just little moments out of their lives.

     The grey quill pen flew from his hand with such force as one would expect had it been still atached to the back of a bird. It met the flagstone floor equally hard, producing a sharp and resonating snap as the carefully carved nib was broken off. The owner of the hand, and the ruined quill, heard this with some measure of satisfaction. It was the sort of satisfaction that comes from hearing something break when one is particularly frustrated. The frustration that ate at Patrick Samsden was; at the moment, rooted in the fact that he couldn't simply fall from a desk and snap himself. Physically, mentally; whatever sort of snap was needed to relieve him of the pathetic situation he was in. More frustrating still was the reality that he could, of course, do nothing of the sort. That would utterly defeat the purpose of the entire endeavor. As this revalation left him at a standstill betwix ending his frustrations and making them worthwhile he decided that throwing himself from the large bay window to his right would not be the most prudent decision at the given moment. In any case, this window by which he now stood would never do, it was barely a story from the ground. He would end up (or down) with no more than a broken leg and a room in the asylum. And, for one with marriage on their mind, that was not a favorable place to be. With this path of thought thouroughly worn down, he turned back to his desk, resolved the only option, really, was to finish what he'd started.

 

 

Author's Note

Good? Bad? Ugly? I don't really think it's my BEST work...but it will do for now. Expect passages about his friends in the near future!