Saturday's Storyteller: Dressed In Black
by Belinda Roddie Today, I threw knives and I threw stars, and I threw javelins, but I didn't throw axes. I needed money for mead, anyway, and shepherd's pie, while pretty ladies sold garlands on staves and children wielded carved blue magic wands. Dressed in black, I followed my dame through the dust and the slight September breeze. One man accused me of being a spy, but a mild denial from me kept him at bay; I couldn't believe my luck. We watched a joust and hollered as the knight from Scotland won the bout. He wore no shirt; his abs apparently offended the gentleman from France. The child in the stands behind us refused to sit, as he claimed it, "hurt his feet." A man in orange blew a glass flower in front of us that afternoon. Minutes later, it shattered like the sun hit it just right - or like a miniature silicone supernova. The glassblower told us that the flower self-destructed because it hadn't been annealed. I guess that's what happens to al