Don't Speak, About Mercy

By Awbrey Collins

Welcome to a one-horse town, where universal education ends at County Line. Self-motivation is a cliche, but a terror for small-town romanticism. Don't Speak, About Mercy is a journey to discover love of craft. Defined by author Awbrey Collins as reliance upon nature, codependence, and a censor of teleological order(s) to find imaginable wonder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649790033

Awbrey Collins

Originally from Austin, Texas, a social narrator, Awbrey Collins, describes his biography being poetic. His spatial context relies on pragmatics and is commonly lost by character influence and roll play. His harsh southern tone and relaxed meditative draw are subterfuge a philosophical experience, intended to be language. Straightforward responses, followed by honest critique, grow the efforts to simplify well-written and the well-read mind.

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About the Author

Originally from Austin, Texas, a social narrator, Awbrey Collins, describes his biography being poetic. His spatial context relies on pragmatics and is commonly lost by character influence and roll play. His harsh southern tone and relaxed meditative draw are subterfuge a philosophical experience, intended to be language. Straightforward responses, followed by honest critique, grow the efforts to simplify well-written and the well-read mind.

Dedication

Dedicated to Molly

Copyright Information ©

Awbrey Collins (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

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Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Collins, Awbrey

Don’t Speak, About Mercy

ISBN 9781645362678 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781649790019 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781649790033 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021912004

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

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Acknowledgment

This book would not be made possible without the American School of Classical Studies at Athens or University Christian Movement, nor impart by the Association for the Education and Cultural Advancement of the People of South Africa. Also, the African Students Association (ASA).

The Watchpot Never Boils

In the small town, whose named after Elgin, stands statute of Sir Philip Sidney—monument of knightly accord, erected. Directed, in subtle form’s consort of English reality, which of Canterbury studies lay ripped by Krampus at its feet. Moving his shadow, as it turns, as sword-point in the dirt should, from the dirt where dust of on-lookers once stood. Couldn’t the house of her Empress Stone wallow back to common-good? The paradox-simile of banner strewn. No knight, of opponent’s house, housed a horror among the realm. Accredited for the denial to many profound gestures, Eliza Stone has kept an inn, a tavern, a stable and watchtower for many years. Breaking silence is spreading without breaching a report for its bearer; hence, the many shadows should soon collaborate in the shade of Sr. Phillip Sidney. News, wonderment, about denial that victimizes a widow, and whose darkness binds the settled horizon, for much of those chosen to never look back. Pain-staking, she will seize another moment of involvement, in crossing the paths with shadows of memorably frozen men.

This hindered claim of flame, fortune, fortitude and fame—as it is in utmost predecessor’s unmoved involvement by their glassy stares, they being ignored and contented by bliss. A burning fealty that has provoked a ghost is unspoken to the court, leaving behind the inheritance of the blitz of shady glazed eyes of inaction. In operant correlation to the physical nature, from many blessings and well-timed kingly manner. Knights will not claim the night; and, in their rites, they have now flooded the streets with light, the streets comforted with safety. The fire waters where darkness loomed overflows, from warriors turned militia, and then militant. The streets are the cause for the building of the façade. Whom, of which, would want to be kingship, as a parody? Is it not in treason, nor a blasphemy? To set up shop, and self-proclaim thyself the ruler of this land? What are her measures? Her sequence? And, when the house bears down, no burden the load upon the ground may be an impression of a trail, through the grassy area distinctly stomped down? Her rules legate the insolence; that, we have agreed to not meet in this night’s martial law, of that very unspeakable voice which is the bearer becoming a gayety to credible threats. Which cause tis white-wash for these religions, to make nuptial agreements with our marital host.

And so, it is, just as expected; she was married before. The law of her lands’ and the religions of my mindlessness caused belief again, as I had not slaved in building our ghost’s tomb. Furthermore, it is a right of any to see, at least this much came from within; themselves, weights worth for her bidding: it is done, as she is the governess, Empress Stone. Eliza, is not a happy woman, and it is this repulsive nature of leer that makes it seem she has accounted for these alliances to her bidding. Where her economical trust is profitable, it is no more Wedgwood than to plate wild sea’s catch next to white bread, topped with sugar. A mustered separation, embellishing on her motives, her slave nature responds to given unnatural and illegitimate births. And these reputable conjured Jules, of thoughts, that either reside within the objective, or have incited reaching a heaven, or hell. How trades the silver city in decrepit leeching achieved Europa? Through the silence, they call the black of night? So, when it has been expected for submission, they are struck from on high and enlightened by the slavish tsking of teeth. Like kittens, lost their mittens and pie, scavenging for mice beneath the unlit horizon as leer is through squinting eye. The inflection of the moon glow, the earth has a sad reproof; she whispers into the negligent ears of whom would be victim outside of these streets and walls.

She was fantastically phantastic about her gains, in-likeness to sir’s merriment image from discovery. Overabundance of the over-toned self-reliance and inspired astonishment from this secured seduction of perdition, from its sorcery with finesse. Christabel, both, archetypes the sculptured stone of perdition, and malcontent centers that wrath inspired guilt. Chasing her dreams, of world peace, she forges something from nothing by shedding from the worldly wishes; and her beauty, our will is not to ascertain personal destiny. Cane of society had herded state of temporary brevity is logical in its proximity, binding from subliminal progress—intentional on subliminal influences—a wait is almost over. Borne histories, more mysteries, spawned from blame; the warnings and chasm need guidance, not sarcasm. They meet. It was a pleasure thinking for you, before I cast away, Christabel had explained one last time. The ramparts are the line, the vehicle is the cloister, and the shuttle is the weaving of words as they pass each other. No one told her to do this. Was she taking up her own advice? What are the motivations; will be the perils. Will well found the ladyship, maidenhood and cause for sister-ship. Her greatest discovery will be fear-inspired mothering, the angst or the trial by fire…midst a choir of adopted orphans.

The gist of the vice which lead her to leaving the metropoles turned up in the first attempt that was made to live outside of dormitory, university life. Looking for things that were pieces of her puzzle, she could borrow them, and return them. She knew better than most not to fiddle in anyone else’s business. Most of the apartments, she was able to compare, convinced her of the truth; the stratagems had taken such a deep hold in her education that we would be painting, soon, a window inside the bathroom wall. It was not intentional that she found something so solitary for continuing her apprenticeship, but her attraction to the coxcomb had made her a wealth of confidence and self-respect. Basely unintentional, dubbed more by convent and misery, she made raise rhymes for memorization, becoming mesmerizing in the country-side, pre-Madonna thought. She must find their religions, back at institution for science, and travel the more poignant split from both prophecy and vision. Dæmonized for seeing the beauty and fluster, where a conversation can take place among mutually respected work ethics, she had founded her voice of self-critique. Work ethics are why she left: For definitions of labors and fears, and doubts, and guile.

The lais of the works are spread about the facade, where it appears on her face, the real labor occurring on Southern Pasture land. These were once tenement camps, houses for serfs and slaves. They were slave lands, with a single homestead, a plantation; serfs working inside, slaves working the façade. There were once two camps, now split. Foursquare, where one lantern powers the society and the other a burning of ten-thousand signal flames. They burn as one, brightly as the Olympic flames of Hera. Nondescript of this history, but a great heritage of the land that encouraged by its farmers and ranchers to wake by the sun, and die by the stress; incurring introductory wisdom, the first famous last words. Incurs the small fact how things have changed; where, once there was a very rich man here, lives now a very rich land. Far from opaque, transcendent beauty, someone transparent and perfunctory shall care bringing with them these histories, as water on mule line. It is still a stage line, only the dirt has a value they never thought they would know. It was what they chose to inherit that became more important to the people who surrounded this character Eliza Stone. The great wave of confusion is as Hecate’s mist; and, so it passes undetectable the name Elgin, from sister to sister.

This town exists itself in the time warp and still has the workmanship of previous ages of development. Redevelopment of the façade has brought it through slavery, past the ages of saloon shootouts and burlesque shows, and finally to a street of traders. Craftsmen have opened up and operate their own shops, to show off their best creations and star their own show. Borrowing from the reconciliation and interdependence, a fame and stability showing up on-time, every time. The town once went up for sale, and with the drama, Eliza had purchased something that was more than was bargained for. The small town is well and alive! The faces travel through, they see the craftsmanship, the artistry; and, their investments go directly into the pockets of hard-working laborers who believe personal accomplishment with intuition of sustainability. More than the voices of the choir, are the precipitating opera, waiting for that high-pitched smoke, or preaching. The sidewalks that now keep out the torrential flooding when it rains, divert the water from the streets, so the town is able to stay open until past dark. Large windows flood in light from the streets, and illuminate the faces that were once buried in the sands, sands which have collected with soil and made the black dirt fruitful. Like the black of the dirt, the fire light has to travel to escape, rather than from a chasm of darkness, it is in the artist to have the ability to flourish.

Festivals have their place to take these streets down, past their concrete and slab: Back to the trader days. Traders bring with them, now, crafts from the archaic past, the present and the future. They worry less about thieves and more about the possibility of seeing their art has actually affected the bringing of the same peace that would house their living here. The festivals themselves create the culture, rather the culture is inspired to create the art. Where the façade was once more beautiful than the better artistic production, which was created and destroyed in a store-front during a dual, the people that make up the ideas now are hard at work, hoping one day they will see through the same store fronts which should carry their names now. A festival is more than a celebration! It is a break with the times to take ease at settling debts, between the hard pass of financial woe and artist’s sorrow about death and life. These people try less to think about every day as making it into a race, of life, and more about inspiring from within a truer meaning of what a material object may or may not convey. How far behind the times are music and drama? The contingency for word of mouth is the one joy that a single day is all it should take, and might bring from rich land ownership an even say, at what something’s worth is, and give to that same worth efficacy a value which a shop keep may be still learning. What they learn about their own lands and investments, sometimes it isn’t even theirs!

Breathing Out Stress

And in this town, Elgin, has a new face that has something to share. It is always going to attract attention. All across the town, the townspeople could not sense that there was an aberration that was settling in. From the houses on the outskirts, to the town hall, expressions were harmony to the silent drama that has been unwritten and only now stable. Statements made poetic; oration were hermetic where, too, a blend of justice and unity to appease and entertain makes stage for receipts of progress and cash in on their hard work. Equals, jealousy is silenced. A classic town forum resumes. Class reduces itself to a single female character, soon to well found lodging among a string