My Me
type: Post
type: BlogPost
modified: 2022-03-10 17:11:41
created: 2018-09-10 18:53:15
link: https://boomersclub.com.au/2018/09/10/my-me/
has creator: account
has container: posts
abstract: A poignant and somewhat disturbing short story by Samuel Elliot set in a Victorian era sideshow.
encoded: Whitechapel, London, 1881 Hell was not a fiery place for Jericho McKinnon. For Jericho, Hell was life, and life was a dank, squalid tomb, shared with an array of virulent vermin. Jericho was the star attraction of Gabb’s Oddities and Monstrosities, billed as the latter by its owner, Everett Gabb. Jericho was kept deep within the bowels of a building, bloated with decay and waterlogged with London’s stinking runoff. In the catacombs of subterranean rooms that had once housed a thriving butcher trade, there now dwelled Gabb’s collection. They were mostly of the human variety, though he also boasted a paltry menagerie of melancholic, malnourished beasts. Jericho was kept close to the latter, which he preferred, as beasts did not treat him any different to their handlers. It was in this indifference he found solace, serenity even, when he roamed the area in dire need of something tangible to boost his spirits. The more docile of the animals would accept hunks of meat and slivers of fruit from his outstretched hand, while he marvelled at the majesty of their design, at the radiance of their amber and ochre eyes. Copyright 2017 Jack Lawrence, The Barker Beckons, Flickr under an attribution licence He wondered at where they had originated from, somewhere there would, conceivably, be humans residing in these far-flung provinces that would accept him as an equal. People that would never shriek and faint at the mere sight of him. He knew that he would never be allowed the opportunity to explore the earth. Leaving the building, even for a brief period of time, was prohibited. This had been rigidly enforced since Jericho had last attempted to escape. Despite knowing this, Jericho had often implored his owner for the greatest mercy of the smallest leave of absence. A few hours, an afternoon at most, enough to visit a library, to attend a play or recital, to live that which he had only done vicariously through the recounts of worldly others and his own vivid (though empirically l…
content: Whitechapel, London, 1881 Hell was not a fiery place for Jericho McKinnon. For Jericho, Hell was life, and life was a dank, squalid tomb, shared with an array of virulent vermin. Jericho was the star attraction of Gabb’s Oddities and Monstrosities, billed as the latter by its owner, Everett Gabb. Jericho was kept deep within the bowels of a building, bloated with decay and waterlogged with London’s stinking runoff. In the catacombs of subterranean rooms that had once housed a thriving butcher trade, there now dwelled Gabb’s collection. They were mostly of the human variety, though he also boasted a paltry menagerie of melancholic, malnourished beasts. Jericho was kept close to the latter, which he preferred, as beasts did not treat him any different to their handlers. It was in this indifference he found solace, serenity even, when he roamed the area in dire need of something tangible to boost his spirits. The more docile of the animals would accept hunks of meat and slivers of fruit from his outstretched hand, while he marvelled at the majesty of their design, at the radiance of their amber and ochre eyes. Copyright 2017 Jack Lawrence, The Barker Beckons, Flickr under an attribution licence He wondered at where they had originated from, somewhere there would, conceivably, be humans residing in these far-flung provinces that would accept him as an equal. People that would never shriek and faint at the mere sight of him. He knew that he would never be allowed the opportunity to explore the earth. Leaving the building, even for a brief period of time, was prohibited. This had been rigidly enforced since Jericho had last attempted to escape. Despite knowing this, Jericho had often implored his owner for the greatest mercy of the smallest leave of absence. A few hours, an afternoon at most, enough to visit a library, to attend a play or recital, to live that which he had only done vicariously through the recounts of worldly others and his own vivid (though empirically l…
topic: entertainment
topic: fiction
topic: stories
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topic: https://boomersclub.com.au/
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