The Pickwicker, Volume 11, Number 1, Winter 1942-1943 Page: 8
35 p. : ill. ; 20 x 27 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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The Rain of Blood
By Charlie Smith
One night as I walked home, a soda sign engaged my attention. Its
enormous red letters fairly screamed that Finch's "Ambrosia" was the
fountain of health. Not believing this to be truth, but desiring a few idle
moments, I visited the soda fountain and was soon sipping the legended
nepenthe. The taste was individual, and I pondered the name. Ambrosia,
according to Hesiod, was the nectar of the gods, and I thought of this as
I enjoyed the beverage. Strange to say, the taste was more soothing than
the odor. The liquid smelled like an opiate, but I cast away my fears by
reading the pure food plaque on the counter. I finished the drink and
found the taste so lingering and persuasive of continuation that I ordered
another glass. This time I drank more slowly and analyzed the taste. I
could not recall any such flavor in all my gustatory experience.
The liquid was tinct with syrup and cinnamon and it blended so beauti-
fully with the cracked ice that I resolved thereafter to confine my patron-
age to ambrosia.
When I had finished the second glass, my senses warned me that all
was not well with my nervous system. My head felt light and airy, and I
could hear the most remote sounds with astonishing clarity. My senses
were doubly acute, and I hastened to the street half fearful that my in-
explicable power of hearing might detect the sounds of the soda vender's
thoughts as he mixed his drinks.
The walk home lay through a vacant lot in which trees made shadows
and obscured the street lamps. As I walked down the path, the nearset
buildings seemed uncannily tall and angular. The windows, which should
have been square and yellow with light, were elongated and of an iride-
scent scarlet. I grew fearful because although the entire landscape was
familiar, the shapes and shadows were altered into a fantastic pattern that
aroused vague memories of dreams and hallucinations. With incredible
faculty I recalled all the world's fables of horror and evil omen. My
imagination goaded my eyes shut for fear of beholding some apparition
that would destroy sanity.
After what seemed a journey through a labryinth, I opened my ownPage 8
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Abilene Christian College. The Pickwicker, Volume 11, Number 1, Winter 1942-1943, periodical, Winter 1942; Abilene, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth335172/m1/10/: accessed May 6, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Abilene Christian University Library.