Thirty-Five

Brian and Spot traveled the coast not long before they heard a wail of despair.

"...unnnhhhhhh..."

"Alas," said Spot. "This is no ordinary animal howl."

"...unnnhhhhhh..."

"The cry is for the absent love," said Spot.

"...unnnhhhhhh..." An ogre with one eye, a Cyclops, groaned on the eastern shore of a large bay. On the western shore was a tower.

"A tower?" said Brian. "I can barely see the bay has an other side at all."

"You see no light at the window?" said Spot. "And at the window, Mademoiselle Princess? Oh, please, let her not be only the dream."

"...unnnhhhhhh..."

"Alas, the song is of the heartbreak," said Spot. "It is the haunting serenade of the despondent virtuoso."

"Heartbreak?" said Brian. "Sounds more like a tortured wildebeest."

"Well, the understatement in eloquence displays the vulnerability," said Spot. "Which builds the dramatic tension."

"It gets tedious in a hurry," said Brian.

"Nevertheless," said Spot. "I no longer have the true claim to the crown. And can carry no longer the pretension to court the fair princess. But I may still nurture hope in the forlorn virtuoso one-eye to find the true love. To tease and control the paranoid monstrosity. With the self-conscious anticipation of the overwhelming pleasure. What can possibly go wrong?"