"David Prill - Rocket Fall" - читать интересную книгу автора (Prill David)

Painship pantheon that he was allowed to leave the castle after his duties were done for the day.
When he walked the walk down to his little cottage at the foot ofMt.Armstrong , Priscilla was there as
always to help him off with his hood and wax his whip before hanging it up on the rack inside the door.

"Strudel, tonight," she said, pecking him on the cheek.

"Ah, strudel," Otto said, eyes widening in the way that only a call to strudel could achieve at this altitude.

The strudel tasted good. It was just like mother used to make before she left for the asylum.

"How was your day, dear?" asked Frau Jedermann.

"Good, good."

"You give the pain?"

"Yah, pain, much pain. Pain put the bread on the table."

"And the strudel."

"Yah, strudel."

After the hour in strudel heaven, Big Otto went into his study and changed into his ragged coat and baggy
pants and applied the white greasepaint to the exposed flesh above his neck, gave himself a big sad face,
affixed the green fright wig, and glued the red ball, funny red ball, onto his own nose.

He looked at himself in the mirror and saw not Otto Jedermann, King of Pain, but Patches, the
Big-Hearted Clown.

Patches, who could take an ordinary balloon, and with a deft twist of the wrist, transform it into a
romping puppy or a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. Only, Otto Jedermann had not yet perfected the art
of balloon animals, because every time he tried to make a puppy, it came out looking like a man being
dismembered by a ripsaw or something equally work-related.

Pfffffft.

Otto sadly tossed the deflated balloon into the corner with his other deformed children. He gazed at his
hands, flipping the big meaty things over. What is wrong with me? he wondered. I have an image in my
mind of what I want to create, I search for that certain kind of energy that gives a creation life and
meaning, yet what these hands form are abominations. What is inside me that does this thing?

He stared at himself in the mirror, this tortured clown. He felt distraught, without hope, his dream of
performing at children's parties horribly unreachable. More than once he had considered ending it all,
turning the devices of his own design upon himself. Life seemed so unfair, but death probably wouldn't be
any more nonpartisan.




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