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An Unfortunate event in the life of Quentin Terrance Cavendi
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Fat squirrel



Joined: 23 Aug 2005
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PostPosted: Thu Jun 01, 2006 9:51 pm    Post subject: An Unfortunate event in the life of Quentin Terrance Cavendi Reply with quote

I wrote this historical fiction story for history so I decided to post it for your enjoyment. If your bored enough.

A resounding crash echoed through the house as Quentin stomped in, slamming the door in frustration and shaking snow off of his coat. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a fresh loaf of bread from the shelf where it had been sitting to cool and tore a large chunk from it, devouring it hungrily. He looked up as Martha, the maid, walked in, and was greeted by an exasperated look.
“Mister, you know you shouldn’t eat right before dinner, and I needed that loaf for the soup.” She said it matter-of-factly, without the sound of accusation or reproach in her voice. She drove him nuts. It was his food wasn’t it? She treated him like she was his bloody mother. Yet the way she said it would have made any kind of defense on his part sound either harsh or childish. He decided to keep his mouth shut and simply left the room taking the loaf with him to his office, where he sat down in an ornate oaken chair and munched the bread thoughtfully. It was still warm and the hearty flavor of it soothed his frustrations. The colonials had made trouble again. Just yesterday evening some group of anarchists had actually destroyed a huge shipment of tea 20 miles north in Boston. How could this happen? It was being sold at incredibly low prices and they refused to buy it. They claimed it was the “tyrannical” tea tax, but since that tax was both low and had been required of all other customers, who had never complained, for over 6 years, that could not be their true reason. The colonials were being offered the best deal in tea in the entire empire! But instead of being pleased they threw a fit! Like an adolescent child! Britain had done everything for the colonies. When Parliament passed the Townshend Acts, six years ago, the colonies complained. Britain gave in, repealing them 3 years later. The same is true of the Quartering Act, which we did not renew at their insistence. In their eyes our British soldiers are bound by duty to protect them, but the idea that they should have to give up a few days of their comfort to house one of them, or to give up the dime it takes to feed one is, of course, unthinkable. Who ever heard of paying for protection anyway? Can’t the soldiers fly over the ocean, eat grass, kill with a glance, and die for them out of the goodness of their hearts? The colonials appeared to be simply daft, completely unwilling to listen to reason. It was that inebriated upstart, Samuel Adams, who whipped the people into frenzy with his lies and ridiculous “grievances”. He’d even started his little “committees of correspondence”, another treasonous attempt at self-rule. A loud crash and a piercing screech from Martha tore Quentin’s mind back to Chesterfield, Massachusetts, as several pairs of heavy footsteps made their way toward him. The door flew open with the sound of splintering wood, leaving it askew on bent hinges. Framed in the doorway was a large man with a large gun and a low brow. He stepped in, starring at Quentin, followed by several others. The last to enter somewhat offset the filthiness of the bunch with combed hair, clean, undamaged clothes, and a full set of teeth, revealed by a large grin.
“Well hello, sir mister fancy Royal British official himself.” He sneered. “You see, the thing is, we’re here to collect due justice for our friends that got shot up in Boston by your English soldiers. That cruel massacre that fat old George seems to think we’ll just forget about.” Quentin shot up from his chair angrily.
“That is King George to you. What did you expect the soldiers to do? There were ten soldiers against a mob of sixty who attacked them! I was there! I saw it happen! They are trained to kill people you know. And not only have eight of those ten soldiers, as well as their commanding officer, been prosecuted and sentenced, that happened three years ago. I would think that good friends could act in a more timely fashion!” The mans grin slipped a little as his friends just stood there, unsure of what to do.
“Well, come on, don’t just stand there, are you going to start believing the words of a English pig? Take him outside.” The big one grabbed Quentin by the arm and walked outside, past Martha who was cowering against the wall in the kitchen, oblivious to the soup boiling over onto the hot iron stove and dripping to the floor. Quentin felt like the man pulling him was a horse, resistance was utterly futile and the man’s grip was like steel. They dragged him all the way to the town square, through billowing snow, where people stared curiously at him. People he had know for years, done business with, all starring at him, unsure of what to do. The huge ogre-man dropped him on his face in the middle of the square. What now? Were they going to kill him? Quentin’s mind flashed to his mother in Livingston, in southern Wales. What would she do when she learned of his demise? He remembered her fresh crumpets and tea on Sunday afternoons as a child. What was he doing here anyway, among these uncivilized barbarians? A strong desire to be back in England overwhelmed him. The crowd parted and Quentin knew his end had come. He lowered his head in defeat before he snapped it back up as the smell of hot tar assailed his nostrils. His eyes met those of one of his assailants as two buckets of hot black slop were dumped on him, forcing him to shut his eyes. Before he could open them again he felt a weight gently descend on him and found, as he opened his eyes, that a sack of chicken feathers had been emptied over his head. He knew he made a ridiculous sight, with feathers stuck to every part of him. But he had little time to think about it as he was dragged violently out of town and thrown face first into the ditch. He could do nothing about the large rock that rushed toward his forehead as he hurtled through the air and landed in a world of darkness.
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Aidinthel



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PostPosted: Thu Jun 01, 2006 11:25 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wouldn't the heat of the tar be excruciatingly painful?
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Alec



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PostPosted: Thu Jun 01, 2006 11:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yeah that's what I heard, you were basicly cooked alive inside the tar and you couldn't take it off without taking your skin with it.

Good story though, I probably should know who this guy is too.
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Onokos



Joined: 24 Apr 2006
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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 1:22 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Very nice to hear the story from Britain's point of view. Very creative story.
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Fat squirrel



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 9:29 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Aidinthel wrote:
Wouldn't the heat of the tar be excruciatingly painful?


I thought of that too, but I was in a bit of a hurry and decided I was too lazy to change what I wrote. I suppose I could do that now, but I'm pretty sure the tar would remain liquid at a pretty low temperature. I've seen it turn to thick goo on hot summer days.
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Exodus



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 9:39 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Actually, the tar would burn like all of hell combined and then it would condense and turn solid, caking over like mud. Mud that you can never get off without skinning yourself alive!

Feathers are bonus points for humiliation.

What I found most enjoyable about learning this stuff was learning the different ways the two countries covered the tar-and-feathering stories. Both of the papers used about the same pictures (maybe even the same) but one was received as the ultimate in freedom fighting and the other was received as an act of barbarism.
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Aidinthel



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 10:07 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It was barbaric. If groups like the Sons of Liberty existed today, they'd probably be called terrorists.
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Farsider



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 10:10 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Not only would it be painful and scorch your skin to the point that the tar would be the only thing covering your bleeding muscles, while also melting off the loose extremities (eye lids, ears, hair, finger tips, toes, genitalea...) the tar would seep into your bloodstream and choke your arteries while destroying your internal organs. Furthermore, the stench and heat would be sufficient to burn your lungs to the point where you would be unable to inhale the necessary volume of oxygen needed to stay alive. After being tarred, most people are only able to lay on the ground and gasp for air that never comes while experiencing possibly the worst pain that can be physically inflicted upon a person. After a while, the victim suffocates to death or the shock and pain reach a point sufficient to put the victim into a deep shock, which also results in death. Crucifixion would probably be a less painful way to die, albeit longer. I have heard that some people may have survived tarring, but i'm not sure how much weight to give those claims. It may have been a reference to earlier tarrings, like in the middle ages, or to people being tarred in medieval battle. A properly-executed tarring would kill even the strongest person.

Great story, though. I loved getting a new perspective on the issue. It really shows the depth of the issues and propaganda that was being slung around back in those days. Thank you for posting it. Quite enjoyable.
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Onokos



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 11:26 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Freedom fighters are terrorists. Just depends on your point of view.
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Aidinthel



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PostPosted: Fri Jun 02, 2006 11:33 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Onokos wrote:
Freedom fighters are terrorists. Just depends on your point of view.
That's my point.
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Exodus



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PostPosted: Sat Jun 03, 2006 12:27 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I think they should've tarred him, feathered him and then, on top of it all, killed his whole extened family in a similar fashion. Or they could chop him up into little bits, make him into chili and make his family eat it. Now THAT is freedom fighting!
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Alec



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PostPosted: Sat Jun 03, 2006 12:22 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Run and hide everyone, you've made him angry!
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Aidinthel



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PostPosted: Sat Jun 03, 2006 2:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ick. I think the TRUE evil of this forum has revealed itself.
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Onokos



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PostPosted: Sun Jun 04, 2006 9:39 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I don't know, his contemplations of murder here involve about a dozen or two. Yours number in the millions as you usually want to take over the world. Simply taking over China will cost nearly 100 million lives alone. Exodus as the true evil? I think not.
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Aidinthel



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PostPosted: Sun Jun 04, 2006 9:48 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I never said I'd use force in my world conquest. I merely said that I would rule the world someday, and mentioned that I happened to have a rather large number of mercenaries.
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