Sounds of Machinery, Sounds of Obscenity.

At west end of the gothic grand foyer a cloud of smoke and dust cascades down, first in a poof, than a whoosh that a loud clattering roar.

White and orange beams of light cut through the smoke and dust. Both you and McCowan stand at the ready to take a photograph.

They say the first part of a language you tend to learn when you visit a foriegn place are the dirty words. A fuselade of Romanian obscenities issue forth from the settling cloud, just audible over the dying din of heavy machinery.

"What the hell! What the hell? There should be another two meters of side chamber here, how did we hit the front entrance? This dosn't make sense." a frantic voice yells out in English.

A hole about six inches across and two feet high is broken through the wall. On the other side you see people crowding around it, presumably archeologists, shining spotlights around and arguing frantically in several languages.

Like snow through the trees, little trickles of dust are unleashed from the ceiling. You look up, seeing waht the ill planned excavation in the next room has caused.

There's a sudden loud Crack! behind you. You turn to see Jennifer McCowan uncoscious on the floor, nose bleeding from catching a fist sized hunk of plaster right in the face. Couldn't have happened to a nicer person.

Written by Damian K.

Back to the parent page

(This page has not yet been checked by the maintainers of this site.)