Date:         Wed, 20 Dec 1995 01:20:47 -0700
From: "We, Morrigna" 
Subject:      A Thing of Beauty... (1/1)

                    A Thing of Beauty...

(a vignette)


"make up your mind
decide to walk with me....

i'll show you my dark secret....

i want you for mine
my blushing bride
my lover, be my lover, yeah...
don't be afraid....

i can promise you
you will stay as beautiful
with dark hair
and soft skin...forever....

give it up to me
do you wanna be...my angel?

.....do you wanna die?

well i'll promise you
i will treat you well
my sweet angel
so help me jesus..."

- Toadies, "Possum Kingdom"

e.m.hall
1995


   "When I was young," she began, "...I never had to worry about
decisions.  I didn't have to think at all. Not once did I ever feel as if
I were stepping from point to point. Surviving was all that mattered, all
that we had time for. When I was young, life just ran its sleek-hewn
course. 'Free will' meant 'farmer or preacher', 'that girl or this one',
'berry print or brown calico'. Freedom wasn't the same as free." She
settled back into silence, swirling the wine in her glass, trying to mix
it evenly with the blood. Some of the bottles sat too long in LaCroix's
cellar. 

   "What are you talking about?" 

   "Nothing," she shrugged, sliding off the stool, leaving her full goblet
for him, if he wanted it. 

   "That is an odd girl." The bartender watched her shake off her leather
jacket, zippers and clasps tinkling in time with the music. She climbed
on-stage, taking her place in one of LaCroix's new go-go cages, and began
to dance. 

   "That 'girl' is alot older than she looks," Vachon insisted.  "She
just...  She just doesn't know what she wants sometimes." 

   "Yeah, whatever." The robust man, with bags under his eyes hinting at
age and fatigue, scratched his uneven beard. "But did you get what she was
saying?" 

   Vachon shook his head, uncommitted. 

   "Free's not free... If people weren't free could they do that?" He
waved a towel at Urs' white undulating body, striped blue-purple, black,
yellow, and red under the turning lights. "Tell me that isn't the wildest
thing you've ever seen..." As he spoke, Ken, their resident Chippendale
alumnus, flung his shirt towards a tight group of cat-calling women. 

   LaCroix emerged from the cellar doorway, buttoning his collar.  He
grinned approvingly at Ken and Urs, his two favourite dolls. "Gentlemen." 

   Vachon returned an empty gaze. The bartender probably grunted;  he was
the type. 

   "Our goddess is in top form tonight. Something in the drink?"  LaCroix
chuckled, taking up Urs' discarded drink absently, striding to his
broadcast booth. 

   As customary, now that The Nightcrawler had change venues, the opening
of his show was simultcast over the Raven's soundsystem. 

   "Good evening, children." 

   As a collective, everyone looked up at the speakers, Urs, her Shirley
Temple curls falling back from her face, was among them. 

   "This is The Nightcrawler coming from your radio, from under your bed,
out of your closet, in your backseat, live from The Raven. It's another
lovely night in Toronto. Let's make it a productive one too, shall we?" 
LaCroix powered up the player next to his microphone. "Let's play..." 

___________________________________________

erica

Cousins Bianca and erica Hall