James Jameson was used to being average height and of average weight. He enjoyed what he believed to be an average life and an average home. In fact it would be fair to say that James Jameson was average in every way and content to be so. Tonight however, James Jameson's life was about to become very un-average, indeed, not average at all.
A cool breeze carried bright red autumn leaves across the dark, muddy road James was traveling on. The branches of the surrounding trees, distorted in the silvery moon light, looked to James like hands reaching out to grab him. A heavy rain storm had just subsided and had managed to soak through James' thick riding coat nevertheless. Even Hamish, James' horse, was still dripping from every hair.
In the distance he could see orange smoke rising from a small camp fire. James whispered to Hamish, "Whoa, boy." and they came to a stop. In the glow of the fire James could make out the figure of a man and a bright colored wagon he believed gypsy's called Vardos. James had never dealt with gypsies in the past and wasn't too sure he wanted to now but his curiosity lead him to move cautiously ahead.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
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