I think some stories are more fun to write than to read.
“Perhaps you can explain why we are here? How did we come here?"
"War begets war. Destruction begets destruction. On Earth, in the last half of the twentieth century they began to outlaw our books. Oh, what a horrible thing — to destroy our literary creations that way! It summoned us out of — what? Death? The Beyond? I don't like abstract things.”
It’s fun to incorporate all your favorite things.
But soon it can quickly become a grocery list of objects and things.
“People joined him and ran with him. Here were Mr. Coppard and Mr. Machen running with him now. And there were hating serpents and angry demons and fiery bronze dragons and spitting vipers and trembling witches like the barbs and nettles...”
Oh, but there were moments.
“Oh, last night I felt ill, ill, ill to the marrows of me, for there is a body of the soul as well as a body of the body, and this soul body ached in all of its glowing parts, and last night I felt myself a candle, guttering.”
Santa Claus is here. Isn’t that fun?
“They all looked at the thin little old man with the scraggly beard and faded red velvet suit.”
But really, this room is getting much too full. Where is the door? This feels much like a clown car, packed full of notable characters and figures.
Isn’t this fun?
"God rest him. Nothing of him left now. For what are we but books, and when those are gone, nothing's to be seen."
A rushing sound filled the sky.
They cried out, terrified, and looked up. In the sky, dazzling it with sizzling fire clouds, was the rocket!”
And metaphors! So many metaphors. I am awash in figurative speech like a man beneath a soap box.
“And Poe howled, furiously, and shrank back with every sweep and sweep of the rocket cutting and ravening the air! All the dead sea seemed a pit in which, trapped, they waited the sinking of the dread machinery, the glistening ax; they were people under the avalanche!
“The snakes!" screamed Poe.
And luminous serpentines of undulant green hurtled toward the rocket...”
The ending was nice, though. Very melodramatic. Reminiscent of the Shelley poem.