Victorian Nursery 	-Ian MacDonell

	It is a strange feeling because I am in a strange state. I con-
fess that I was careless but I have no regrets, the fascination and
mystery still grips me. She was not lovely, but attractive and it
wasn't so much her personality that made me want to discover I know not
what, but rather an aura that swept around her. It was a force like
water in a whirlpool, and she was the vortex.
	I had been feeling restless, a feeling that rose in me often and
forced me to walk miles into the night, looking for whatever I found.
And yet on the eve of my last peregrination, I knew there was something
specific to find, something there and real, yet of such a quality that I
was ignorant of it's material compostion, and without direction until I
arrived in the middle of a field, the small type that lies in every sub-
division. I won't say where it is, the spot is hers and she must rule
it as she wishes uninterrupted.
	And in her domain, I stopped and waited. I had no idea what for,
but I waited patiently and without reservation, without great anticipa-
tion either, for I knew that I would receive soon. I heard a sound; or
many, I didn't grasp the number. I remember it was high pitched, a
shattering note that would drive a sane person mad or would create for
the mad a euphoric state, and it slid through the mind as the voice of
the cicada on a hot summer day. And she came, walking on the wind like
Jesus on the water, slowly, with dignity and presence, with no great
form but with the aura and I knew it was She. Feeling a power beyond
my senses, I knew she had bent my head back, exposing the neck, and I
wanted this to happen as I had wanted nothing before and not feeling her
teeth I knew she drew my blood.
	And it was over. The note gone, no presence felt, and I was alone
in the field. I should have been horrified and frightened, but I felt
elated and wanted to l!ear the twin marks on my ne.ck as a medal, but I
was wise enough not to.
	I was wise and careful, but I lived the days in myself, The world
was gone. I walked its streets, breathed its air, but I was absent from
it. I felt my being swirl in my body, and it was a welcome massage.
	I went back many times, many nights and. each time I felt the same
rush of existance and the same euphoria. But it ended like a movie
program, and I was one of them. A feeling of power envelopes me now and
I recognize it as an aura of the sort she possessed. It is mine and no
one can take it.
	But I must move on. I want to taste blood, to feel the thick
liquid ease down my throat and so I must find my own territory, my own
kingdom; and I shall drink deeply.


All history is the propaganda of the victorious - Ernest Tollet

Amusement is the happiness of those that cannot think - Alexander
							Pope