A short story about a young man who wanders into the woods of Ireland.

Essay by cheshire_smileF, October 2004

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They were recording the new album in an old castle in Scotland. Why Scotland? The only answer anyone could find that adequately explained the situation was that It Was Mike's Idea. A room in one of the towers was converted into a studio. The rest of the place remained more or less as it had been hundreds of years ago, with the exception of the electricity and running water that had been added a decade before.

The castle actually had a moat. James was amazed to think that only a few years ago he had regarded upstate New York as the middle of nowhere. If that were true, this was half a mile beyond the farthest, remotest end of nowhere. Not only was he totally isolated in a castle that made him want to stumble around screaming "fair is foul and foul is fair," but even in the late spring it was always cold and wet.

True, he'd done his fair share of bouncing around the globe, but he remained most comfortable in warm climates. It rained for at least an hour every day that they'd been there. He thought he might have to build an ark.

He was beginning to doubt that he would survive this album. Mike was only making matters worse. Not only was he mad at him for dragging him all the way to Scotland, but he was also trying to impose his workaholic tendencies upon everyone. It simply wasn't working out. "No, you're doing that wrong, it's supposed to sound like this," he corrected James, demonstrating what he wanted him to be singing yet


"Mike, it's 2:00 in the morning. I'm tired."

"2:00 isn't that late. As I was saying, you were slow, you're supposed to start on this part...