Once a traveler stumbled upon a tower. It was so tall that its top was obscured by clouds. Being a curious sort he went in and inquired as to the reason the building was there, but none present could grasp what he was saying, nor could he understand them. As he ascended each floor he encountered progressively more incomprehension until he reached the final level, miles up. Fog enveloped everything, yet the fellow could make out a vague someone who, the closer he approached, became less distinct. He peered into the nothingness of the other and asked if he could be understood.
"Yes," came the reply. "Perfectly."
There once lived a king atop a mountain, his wealth immense, his castle a panoptical beacon. The peasants in the valley who served him thought him wise and just.
Then the king for no apparent reason decided to have a grand feast despite the fact that famine ravaged the land. Courtiers were summoned, animals slaughtered, granaries plundered.
The party began on a warm spring night. The castle brimmed over with music and light. The royal family and their guests assembled for the meal. Strangely, the more they ate, the hungrier they became. Consumption increased in inverse proportion to the rate of emaciation. Provisions, though vast, were soon depleted.
Days later the commoners entered the castle to find a shocking scene: the reveler's bodies resembled slender saplings. They buried the victims and had just enough food of their own to endure the pestilence.
The next year's harvest was bountiful.
Frank was one lucky photographer. It wasn't every day he had such an opportunity: snapping frames of Ephemera Endura, the sexiest woman alive. Frank was glad his studio was ready. Frank was glad he was mentally prepared. Most of all, Frank was glad his wife wasn't there.
Ephemera glided from behind the partition like mist time-lapsing around a mountain. To call her graceful would be an insult. She resembled a petite Greek statue: five-two, blue eyes, red hair cascading over ivory shoulders like a ruddy waterfall. Her breasts quivered like gelatin. She had more curves than a Colorado switchback. She wore a flowing silk gown so sheer it almost didn't exist. Frank grinned knowing the garment was a ruse that would soon evaporate.
Which it did. Her nude form was beyond paradise and, as Frank contemplated her, she offered to reveal herself entirely. What? Wasn't she doing that already? Dizzy, he said sure. She peeled away her substance like a near-infinite onion. She removed skin, veins, organs, bones, marrow. She kept taking it off until she was down to her DNA, but this was shorn as well. Only her spirit remained. She asked him how she looked.
Trembling, he said, "Radiant."
Care to listen to Your Humble Yarnspinner read the above-listed tales? Click here. If you like "Babel", "Starvation" and "Veil", you'll certainly enjoy the others. Order soon!
These stories originally appeared in my latest book, Panorama thru a Keyhole, and are copyright 1997 by Clay Norris.