Post by The Observer on Oct 8, 2006 21:22:24 GMT -5
I couldn't join a board without contributing something. If you don't know who I am (and I don't expect any of you to) then check out the YWG memorial board under "The Story"
This is a snippet. It is a scene meant only to be a scene. From a series of semi-connected stories under the title "Dementia". It is not meant for plot, but for mood. Not for message, but for emotion. WIthout further ado, the first of Dementia:
Beautiful six-winged birds flew from tree to tree, uttering their musical cries. The dense forest was full of life. Gigantic trees stretched like careful parents, protecting the fragile undergrowth beneath them. Wildflowers grew in bunches and the very stones themselves seemed to team with life. A tall figure dressed in black strode into the forest. His hard boots a stark contrast to the soft grasses that he trod upon. A wind blew through the trees, but instead of the rustle of leaves, the trees uttered poetry. Every leaf spoke a single word, every branch a single verse, every tree a single poem. The man stopped, startled at the explosion of voice. But only for a moment before he continued on. He walked hurriedly through the flowers that called out limericks as he passed. His boots crushed the tender undergrowth beneath the trees. In fact, they didn’t crush the undergrowth, but rather, dissolved it. For whatever his boots touched seemed to become unreal, and as he walked the forest seemed to dissolve into unreality behind him.
Soon the tall figure rounded a bend and could see another figure seated on a large boulder made of polished marble. It looked like a large pool ball sunk partway into the ground. The figure was sitting sadly on the bolder, his head rested on his fist, lazily tracing his finger in the air. From where he traced a thin line of rainbow-colored smoke issued and shaped the form of a delicate wood-fairy. The design hung in the air for a moment, and the hunched figure on the stone puffed his breath at it, as if to blow it away. But instead of dissipating, it instantly took form, and the fragile figure of a beautiful wood fairy fluttered down and sat on his knee. She looked up sadly at the forlorn face of the one who sat on the stone. The one on the stone seemed not even to notice her though, he stared morosely into the river that flowed past his feet. And as he stared into the river, people and faces seemed to shimmer within its depths. Scenes played themselves out before him. There was an angry man, and a crying child. A baby bird fell from its nest and a small boy watched it as it struggled vainly to hold onto its life. A dog barked, and a boy was screaming at his friend.
The tall figure watched the river for a moment then spoke.
“My lord, it is time.”
The figure on the stone looked away from the river, the pictures disappeared instantly, and toward the tall figure. His eyes seemed to stare as if from a great distance and the tall figure stiffened beneath his gaze. The forest in the direction of the tall one had already grown hazy, as if a thick fog had fallen over it, and the figure on the stone was having trouble focusing on any one thing in it, everything except the tall figure had grown hazy with unreality. The figure on the stone sighed heavily.
“My lord, we must hurry.”
The fairy on the figure’s knee glared up at the tall figure angrily and clenched its little twig-fists
“My lord…” he continued anxiously
“I know.” He spoke quietly, his voice almost a whisper. But the heartbreak and the sorrow in those two words was deafening.
The seated figure stood and stretched his arms wide, taking a deep breath he stretched his arms and seemed as if to hold the whole forest in one embrace, to gather up the forest in his arms. Then he exhaled, and it was like a mighty wind that blew the leaves away, for now the forest was just a pile of old leaves spinning in the wind, now it was just dust on the breeze, now it was ashes, now it was gone.
The figure opened his door and left.
Any comments are more than welcome
This is a snippet. It is a scene meant only to be a scene. From a series of semi-connected stories under the title "Dementia". It is not meant for plot, but for mood. Not for message, but for emotion. WIthout further ado, the first of Dementia:
Beautiful six-winged birds flew from tree to tree, uttering their musical cries. The dense forest was full of life. Gigantic trees stretched like careful parents, protecting the fragile undergrowth beneath them. Wildflowers grew in bunches and the very stones themselves seemed to team with life. A tall figure dressed in black strode into the forest. His hard boots a stark contrast to the soft grasses that he trod upon. A wind blew through the trees, but instead of the rustle of leaves, the trees uttered poetry. Every leaf spoke a single word, every branch a single verse, every tree a single poem. The man stopped, startled at the explosion of voice. But only for a moment before he continued on. He walked hurriedly through the flowers that called out limericks as he passed. His boots crushed the tender undergrowth beneath the trees. In fact, they didn’t crush the undergrowth, but rather, dissolved it. For whatever his boots touched seemed to become unreal, and as he walked the forest seemed to dissolve into unreality behind him.
Soon the tall figure rounded a bend and could see another figure seated on a large boulder made of polished marble. It looked like a large pool ball sunk partway into the ground. The figure was sitting sadly on the bolder, his head rested on his fist, lazily tracing his finger in the air. From where he traced a thin line of rainbow-colored smoke issued and shaped the form of a delicate wood-fairy. The design hung in the air for a moment, and the hunched figure on the stone puffed his breath at it, as if to blow it away. But instead of dissipating, it instantly took form, and the fragile figure of a beautiful wood fairy fluttered down and sat on his knee. She looked up sadly at the forlorn face of the one who sat on the stone. The one on the stone seemed not even to notice her though, he stared morosely into the river that flowed past his feet. And as he stared into the river, people and faces seemed to shimmer within its depths. Scenes played themselves out before him. There was an angry man, and a crying child. A baby bird fell from its nest and a small boy watched it as it struggled vainly to hold onto its life. A dog barked, and a boy was screaming at his friend.
The tall figure watched the river for a moment then spoke.
“My lord, it is time.”
The figure on the stone looked away from the river, the pictures disappeared instantly, and toward the tall figure. His eyes seemed to stare as if from a great distance and the tall figure stiffened beneath his gaze. The forest in the direction of the tall one had already grown hazy, as if a thick fog had fallen over it, and the figure on the stone was having trouble focusing on any one thing in it, everything except the tall figure had grown hazy with unreality. The figure on the stone sighed heavily.
“My lord, we must hurry.”
The fairy on the figure’s knee glared up at the tall figure angrily and clenched its little twig-fists
“My lord…” he continued anxiously
“I know.” He spoke quietly, his voice almost a whisper. But the heartbreak and the sorrow in those two words was deafening.
The seated figure stood and stretched his arms wide, taking a deep breath he stretched his arms and seemed as if to hold the whole forest in one embrace, to gather up the forest in his arms. Then he exhaled, and it was like a mighty wind that blew the leaves away, for now the forest was just a pile of old leaves spinning in the wind, now it was just dust on the breeze, now it was ashes, now it was gone.
The figure opened his door and left.
Any comments are more than welcome