'Writers are liars by nature, but just because of that, don't discount us. For it is through our lies that we tell the truth. Our stories become the mask.'

Thursday 30 April 2015

The Slink-way Carousel...

11.23 p.m.


 

You step out into the night,
and in the darkness...
a carousel,
there sits.
Like a universe in faded and broken lights...
A tune creeps amongst the shadows,
winds about the gilded flashing mirrors...
Nestles into your ears and close to your heart.

 

You breathe out,
breathe white against the dark.
You draw near to the strange music...
The faded patterns and a cold,
broken laugh that suddenly rises amidst...
The flash of a fractured face...
A wicked grin,
upon a face of shadows...
Click-clicking claws,
swiveling eyes.

But still you draw near...
You step up, 
and you notice for the first....
The way the tune is beating,
how it catches and repeats, 
you press your fingers against a delicately carved spire and beyond....
Amidst the colours,
eyes the colour of flint glint out at you,
a pale skin and a savage smile beaneath a Stage Masters' torn hat...
As the creature spins into view,
and sweeps its' hat off in a theatrical bow to you...
His teeth seem to lengthen and twist as he grins from beneath that bow,
and then he is beside you...
Everywhere like the shadows,
as surely he ushers you on with a wink...

 

'Trail my way night-child...' he whispers in a voice of madness.
'Come to my tinkering-lounge.
Sit down, sit...
and perhaps we shall palavar,
mayhaps we shall dance...
maybe we will perform a little galavant of Fate.'

A slamming bar tune fills your ears,
as the man guides you round and round the carousel until...
Louder,
the thundering bar tap-tap evolves into,
a broken piano...

An old dragon sits there...
and he plays,
he jives...
He slams those keys down as smoke drifts from his nostrils,
to coil above the keys...

The dragon smiles at you,
as the lights seem to dance... 
and the madman twirls you around
 and forces you into a silently floating carriage...
Led by ten gold steeds.

As the dragon continues to hammer away,
that jaunting melody...
The madman crouches down beside you,
grins...
and then pulls out a blade from his tattered coat.

He balances it by its' tip upon his palm,
flips it...
A silver lighting his eyes,
before he offers it to you.

 

'Play our music,
dance our game...
Carve yourself a soul if you would deign too,
upon this merry-as-Hell carousel of ours...
But do mind the rain.'

You take the blade from him...
You do as he suggests,
you carve a mark of soul...
Upon the nearby wall.

Thunder deep as bones of the earth,
and light as silver as that blade scorches apart the star-filled sky...
Clouds form at the speed of sound.

'Watch them coil...
watch them murl.' the madman sings.

The dragons' banging tune rises into the mayhem of the storm.
It shivers.
It mists,
then it pours.
The tune becomes inseperable from the rain...
As a final flash of silver lightning,
Blinds the world...
The world returns,
The lighting flees...
Into pure onslaught of Rain,
Stealing the Dragon away with it...
and the piano stands empty.

The carousel emits a warped screech...
A warped shudder,
and then the madman is beside you again.

The rain pours.

Ten of the carousel lights flicker,
and then burst...

He holds out his hand to you,
and helps you to your feet...

He leads you to the edge of the carousel,
as the world is dark and water before you...
You turn once more,
to gaze at the faded splendor...
Of that slink-way carousel,
then you look at him.

The madman grins magnificently at you,
and removes his rag-tag hat.
He drops his hand inside...
and after a brief struggle,
he yanks an umbrella from within...

'I bid you well,
dear night-child,
dear hoot...
and I hope to see you again very soon.
Let this carousel remain tucked away in your heart...
A glowing illuminance,
To light the dark.
We are here in the corners,
where your eyelids blink...
and now always,
your soul shall be engraved here.'

The madman offers you the umbrella,
 with a last smile...
and a wink,
and then promptly pushes you out into the street.

The rain plummets,
yet swiftly the umbrella you lift...
and hurriedly race to reach your porch.

The hour upon your watch chimes twelve...
As you turn one last time,
to look.



Far away now,
the carousel sits...
twinkling like a mini universe,
and even as you watch,
it shrinks further
and further away...

Fracturing into the night,
and emitting one final gasp...
Of golden lights and a haunting music,
it disappears.

Is gone.

But there still...
Haunting your heart.




Hey there dear ones,
It's been such a while but my computers been evil.

Four days ago, before the rain began, the door to Eternity opened in my mind again. It brought with it an impression, sometime around midnight that if I stepped outside into my street I'd see a carousel a-lit with lights waiting for me.

These words came to me after that.

I hope you have enjoyed our,
Slink-way carousel.


Miss C.L.Scarlett xx

 
 

Saturday 11 April 2015

Sleeping Universes Out Way...

 
Last Words of
Tom Whitman:
 
'Imaginareum.'
 
 
 
 
'I'd hoped to hear the chords played again one day,
Without them I am lost in this nothingness...
Wandering after far off music,
in a desert of ashes...
If the tune had a colour,
it would be a mixture of pink and red...
Constantly afraid of it fading away,
terrified of the silence that may come...
My final memories are pulling me to the end of a black alley.
There's a door in the darkness,
I struggle to find my way through the door...
I can hear it clearly now,
The most beautiful melody ever created by man...
I enter the room,
and there forever remains...
that change from G to E minor.'
 
 
 
 
We are haunted by these shadows of ours...
the world that sometimes,
is more real to us than this...
This now.
Autumn leaves are falling in my soul...
and he has come back for me,
to take me far from here...
he was always waiting,
but now I go far away...
I must,
and until then...
I bid you,
Farewell.
 
Miss C.L.Scarlett xx