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Fantasy Fiction Telegram, v. 1, issue 3, December 1936
Page 16
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FANTASY FICTION TELEGRAM Porter who had driven him out to this lonely, old ramshackle cottage, deep in the weeds, after he had discharged him from the University staff. Five years he had labored her in the "Mansion" as some satirical visitor had flippantly named it. Five years he had toiled here with inadequate tools, five years of misery in which he had not seen a single soul besides the grocer's boy and him only when he brought the monthly store of food. Oh, no use trying to hide it from himself. He had been lonely. He vaguely wondered how many times he had wished for some smiling cheery body with whom to share his work and happiness. He smiled grimly as he thought of the many times he had sat and brooded before the roaring fire, dreaming and planning for this moment of triumph. "Well," he thought, "I'll fix them." He stood up and scanned his face in his only mirror. "Surely," he whispered to himself, "all those wrinkles cannot be the inroads of age. They are the results of this life of misery, and it I lead because of Porter. Porter caused them, but he'll pay." he reared at his image in rage, "and so will all the others who mocked. With my new power I will become master of the Earth. They shall grovel at my feet begging for mercy. Mercy, hah-hah, I'll show them the mercy they showed me. I'll kill all of them! And Porter," his voice quieted to a pitiable falsetto as he thought of his arch-enemy, "Porter," he laughed shrilly, "I'll disintegrate inch by inch. But I must make plans for the new type airship." He worked long hours into the night figuring and drawing. It was only through the resultant weariness that he managed to sleep at all. The next day when he awoke from fitful slumber, the sun was already high in the sky, proclaiming the fact that the time was CONTINUED ON PAGE 18 (Page 16)
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FANTASY FICTION TELEGRAM Porter who had driven him out to this lonely, old ramshackle cottage, deep in the weeds, after he had discharged him from the University staff. Five years he had labored her in the "Mansion" as some satirical visitor had flippantly named it. Five years he had toiled here with inadequate tools, five years of misery in which he had not seen a single soul besides the grocer's boy and him only when he brought the monthly store of food. Oh, no use trying to hide it from himself. He had been lonely. He vaguely wondered how many times he had wished for some smiling cheery body with whom to share his work and happiness. He smiled grimly as he thought of the many times he had sat and brooded before the roaring fire, dreaming and planning for this moment of triumph. "Well," he thought, "I'll fix them." He stood up and scanned his face in his only mirror. "Surely," he whispered to himself, "all those wrinkles cannot be the inroads of age. They are the results of this life of misery, and it I lead because of Porter. Porter caused them, but he'll pay." he reared at his image in rage, "and so will all the others who mocked. With my new power I will become master of the Earth. They shall grovel at my feet begging for mercy. Mercy, hah-hah, I'll show them the mercy they showed me. I'll kill all of them! And Porter," his voice quieted to a pitiable falsetto as he thought of his arch-enemy, "Porter," he laughed shrilly, "I'll disintegrate inch by inch. But I must make plans for the new type airship." He worked long hours into the night figuring and drawing. It was only through the resultant weariness that he managed to sleep at all. The next day when he awoke from fitful slumber, the sun was already high in the sky, proclaiming the fact that the time was CONTINUED ON PAGE 18 (Page 16)
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