Short Story Intro

Edward Luther Kingsley was, what they used to call, a Gentleman. To be more exact, he followed the accepted codes of conduct for the male segment of Yorkshire, England, which involved such outdated practices as helping ladies into carriages, but since this was the 20th century, they had automobiles instead of carriages. The logistics were very much the same, except that one had to bend down to enter a automobile and one had to step up to enter a carriage. Nevertheless, Edward Luther Kingsley was a Gentleman. Edward deemed himself to be somewhat of a philosopher, poet and pacifist, but not necessarily in that order. He had a very singular personality, face, and occupation. He was, in all respects, very much a young ‘harmless’ idealist, and his entire physical manifestation displayed it. He tended to act eccentrically vague, by staring at something or someone with a strange, half-smile on his face, and not responding to the persons question, but rather, slowly tilting his head horizontally. It seemed that he himself was not doing it, but as if he was part of some machine which momentarily had forgotten him, and then suddenly remembered him with a jerk. His face was decidedly odd, but not ugly in the least. It was another unthought-of answer to the combinations of faces, which a person might, scratch his head, and say “Well! I hadn’t thought of that type of face. I suppose it works.” His occupation was unknown the general public but suffice it to say that it was as singular as the rest.
Edward Luther Kingsley was in the local pub in Howden, Yorkshire on a fire summer evening, sitting with a pint on his right, a piece of paper in the center and his pipe on the left. He was in the early stages of composing a poem, which went something like this:

One rare pleasant day in spring
In the unearthly woods of Hargart
two fair maidens who sweetly sing
The notes capture my heart

The maidens come from everywhere
Softly stepping o’er the leaves
With long thick ropes of heavenly hair
Those with me in the forest perceives

Alone with them I am alive
Else where I cannot say
O! what they contrive
I remember not what day!

Time and space are becoming one
Heaven on earth I am finding