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Originally posted in comment thread on: http://tanacawyr.livejournal.com/
"Mr. Hornblower?" I'm waiting, Mr. Hornblower. "You don't normally take this long. Come, come, let's see your slate."
Simpson fidgeted next to him.
The image, very clearly present in his mind, of Simpson's fist drawn back and then hurtling towards his own face, the resulting blossom of bright pain upon impact, and the inevitable swelling and dull throb that would make him so excruciatingly self-conscious, so horrifyingly pitied,
Could not,
Would not,
could not stop his hand from writing the correct answer.
That fist would never be more powerful than the truth.
"Mr. Hornblower?" I'm waiting, Mr. Hornblower. "You don't normally take this long. Come, come, let's see your slate."
Simpson fidgeted next to him.
The image, very clearly present in his mind, of Simpson's fist drawn back and then hurtling towards his own face, the resulting blossom of bright pain upon impact, and the inevitable swelling and dull throb that would make him so excruciatingly self-conscious, so horrifyingly pitied,
Could not,
Would not,
could not stop his hand from writing the correct answer.
That fist would never be more powerful than the truth.
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