Randall Johnson III
Stories (1/0)
The Great Mr. Handel
Short Story: "The Great Mr. Handel" Here I was again, taking a walk in the streets of London in the year of our Lord, 16 February 1741. As I left my residence and embraced the cold wintry air, my hands soon after leaving became swollen with sores laden with perseverance from the harsh winter the current year impressed. My face was of the driest crustiness and paleness, like overcooked bread, yet not burned, and dusted with bits of red tempera and dried blood. Enduring the cold, I pressed forward this day, as I did every day of the year for the last eleven years of my time in London. I charged through the snow that blanketed the streets, as usual. I then became ill as I neared a corner street by the Thames. With my fatigue, I began to wonder if my hourly walk would need an amendment or if I could still brave the cold.
By Randall Johnson III3 years ago in Beat