The Mournsong

Here is my first entry to Protagonize, its a peusdo fairy tale setting.

Broad outline: It is england, and Godfrey is a simple parish priest who lives in the middle of no where plagued by ill health and a foul bishop. As he seeks shelter from a storm his experiences start to turn from unpeasent into deeply disturbing.

I have already outlined the first few chapters to give people a broad idea, i will upload them once i'm happy with them.


Father Godfrey Knight was having another bad day. The road in front of him was flooded, thanks to the near constant downpour that seemed to have followed him as he drove through the narrow back roads towards his destination. His lack of sleep the night before due to his near constant insomnia wasn't helping and to matter matters worse, his head was pounding. The clock on his dashboard showed that the time was seven fourteen, he was now officially fifteen minutes late for his meeting with the bishop.

Cursing under his breath Godfrey was once again forced to make a u-turn and try and find another route into the town of Wexmouth. His memory straining to find a route that he hadn't already tried and discovered was flooded. The past fifteen years of this posting had taught him the back routes of this rural area of England well. Most (if not all) of his parish lived along the winding back roads with the odd hamlet or village providing contrast with the endless landscape of fields. His own church was situated in the largest local village, but Godfrey had to admit that the village of Husband's Birch was tiny compared to the norm.

The entire area was perhaps the most isolated part of England, with the town of Wexmouth providing the only nearby urban experience for many miles. Wexmouth itself was a dump, a small and fairly poor market town that experienced its boom a century ago. But its fishing stocks had long since dried up, leaving very little future prospect for the town outside of a local centre for the post office, shops and supermarkets.

Getting to Wexmouth was difficult enough, as the roads formed an impressive maze at the best of times. The rain was making the task all but impossible now and Godfrey knew that the Bishop would not be best pleased with his lateness. The rain was getting harder, the sound crashing off the roof of his car, the wind screen wipers proved utterly unable to clear the windscreen quick enough making visibility practically zero. The sound made his head feel even worse and his nerves were nearing breaking point as he strained to remember where he was. The complete lack of visibility made all the landmarks disappear and Godfrey realised that he was quite lost, driving around a maze of back roads that were prone to flood.

Cursing even loader Godfrey searched hi car for his mobile phone. His car was an old and slightly battered Ford that he had bought second hand eight years ago off one of his elderly parishioners whose eye sight had finally failed him. The car was nothing amazing, but it served as an old and trusted friend to Godfrey as it was his only real escape from the repetition of his life. The inside of the car was a mess, with maps, hymn books and bibles scattered throughout it. Reaching for his phone he checked the signal – zero which was hardly surprising as the entire area was covered with signal holes.

The End

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