DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fantasite, v. 2, issue 3, whole no. 9, August-September 1942

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Fantasite, v. 2, issue 3, whole no. 9, August-September 1942

Page 26

WHEN SLEEPING BEAUTY SPOKE
By DONN BRAZIER

GUS DOUBLEPOUND was not science-fiction fan number one, for he was too much the dreamer. He was a poet, and beauty was his goal. Is it not ironical that his last act should have been so practical, so unbeautiful? For, melodramatically, he put a bullet through his head.

He, himself, was a thing of masculine beauty, and the poetry he wrote was one of the best; yet he had to smear his dreams with the wasted life-blood of his strong, handsome body. That leaden bullet was the measure of his weakness, the ruler that marked off the distance between his clay-covered feet and the clouds which he had not the strength to reach and hold. A cloud vanished in his fingers, and Gus wrapped those fingers around the butt of a .45

The culmination of his search for absolute beauty came about on a beautiful, lazy summer day. He and I were strolling through the woods enjoying our vacation, looking for wild flowers, and listening to the carefree songs of the birds which he loved. We had just topped a grassy knoll and were following a chattering squirrel up the trunk of a huge tree with our eyes, when we both saw it.

It was a tree house. Almost hidden in the leaves, it rested securely on three thick branches. Curiosity overcame us and we climbed the tree, helping each other from branch to branch. After several minutes of excited climbing we arrived at the leafy door of the elevated structure. With scarcely a moment's hesitation, Gus pushed open the twig-constructed door and crawled inside.

"Oh", he breathed.

I heard his sigh and hurried in myself. A girl, perhaps eighteen years old, utter perfection, lay sleeping on a canvas cot strewn with pine needles. I stole a glance at Gus. His eyes were glowing. He did not need to speak; I knew that there was the end of his search for ultimate beauty. Here was the concrete answer to his dreams. That glow in his eyes meant nothing else.

She lay with one white arm thrown above her head, and the other dangled in the shadows below the couch. Her face was framed in a halo of curling, dark hair; and the shadows and lights caused by the sun slanting through the leaves rippled across her face like dancing elves. Gently, ever so gently, her breasts rose and fell with her even breathing.

Gus had not moved since entering. The glow in his eyes had burst into flame. It's funny how quickly love can strike. Here was a handsome young man, a sleeping girl, new love, and all this in the depths of a forest far away from everyone. I began to feel unnecessary and so welcomed the slow flutter of her long black lashes as she began to awake.

Now there was a tenseness and strained tautness in Gus' kneeling body. A little muscle in his cheek began to twitch. What would she say? What would sleeping beauty do?

Her eyes opened and fastened on us. They were the largest, the brownest I had ever seen. She blinked once, then spoke:

"Say, where's my...Oh, here it is." As she spoke she brought up the hand which had been in the shadows beneath the cot. In her hand was a copy of the latest Amazing Stories.

Gus blinked three times and wiped the cinders from his eyes. We backed out of the doorway. She called to us, "Don't go. Have you read 'Pirates of Space'?"

That night Gus put a bullet through his head.

Saving...

WHEN SLEEPING BEAUTY SPOKE By DONN BRAZIER GUS DOUBLEPOUND was not science-fiction fan number one, for he was too much the dreamer. He was a poet, and beauty was his goal. Is it not ironical that his last act should have been so practical, so unbeautiful? For, melodramatically, he put a bullet through his head. He, himself, was a thing of masculine beauty, and the poetry he wrote was one of the best; yet he had to smear his dreams with the wasted life-blood of his strong, handsome body. That leaden bullet was the measure of his weakness, the ruler that marked off the distance between his clay-covered feet and the clouds which he had not the strength to reach and hold. A cloud vanished in his fingers, and Gus wrapped those fingers around the butt of a .45 The culmination of his search for absolute beauty came about on a beautiful, lazy summer day. He and I were strolling through the woods enjoying our vacation, looking for wild flowers, and listening to the carefree songs of the birds which he loved. We had just topped a grassy knoll and were following a chattering squirrel up the trunk of a huge tree with our eyes, when we both saw it. It was a tree house. Almost hidden in the leaves, it rested securely on three thick branches. Curiosity overcame us and we climbed the tree, helping each other from branch to branch. After several minutes of excited climbing we arrived at the leafy door of the elevated structure. With scarcely a moment's hesitation, Gus pushed open the twig-constructed door and crawled inside. "Oh", he breathed. I heard his sigh and hurried in myself. A girl, perhaps eighteen years old, utter perfection, lay sleeping on a canvas cot strewn with pine needles. I stole a glance at Gus. His eyes were glowing. He did not need to speak; I knew that there was the end of his search for ultimate beauty. Here was the concrete answer to his dreams. That glow in his eyes meant nothing else. She lay with one white arm thrown above her head, and the other dangled in the shadows below the couch. Her face was framed in a halo of curling, dark hair; and the shadows and lights caused by the sun slanting through the leaves rippled across her face like dancing elves. Gently, ever so gently, her breasts rose and fell with her even breathing. Gus had not moved since entering. The glow in his eyes had burst into flame. It's funny how quickly love can strike. Here was a handsome young man, a sleeping girl, new love, and all this in the depths of a forest far away from everyone. I began to feel unnecessary and so welcomed the slow flutter of her long black lashes as she began to awake. Now there was a tenseness and strained tautness in Gus' kneeling body. A little muscle in his cheek began to twitch. What would she say? What would sleeping beauty do? Her eyes opened and fastened on us. They were the largest, the brownest I had ever seen. She blinked once, then spoke: "Say, where's my...Oh, here it is." As she spoke she brought up the hand which had been in the shadows beneath the cot. In her hand was a copy of the latest Amazing Stories. Gus blinked three times and wiped the cinders from his eyes. We backed out of the doorway. She called to us, "Don't go. Have you read 'Pirates of Space'?" That night Gus put a bullet through his head.