The Call of the Ghost Tides Eve

 

Friday the 13th: 2.21 am...

 

Somewhere in Los Angeles.

 

A street...
choked by mist,

you stand there...

in the dark,

with the shadows coiling about you...

then ahead,

a monstrous shriek...

from within the dusk and smog,

a briefly swift shifting of darkness...

amongst the grey,

pale eyes glinting out...

then,

a howl like bones...

and a creature emerges from the mist,

a wolf...

tall and great,

born with a coat of  bone white...

and teeth that drip daark,

It calls to you...

in a voice like the ancient wind,

 

 

'We have heard...

that they are coming,

they are coming...

and we strip our bones to black,

to dinge the essences of our souls...

for they come swift,

and they sneak ageless...

through the corridors we so long,

protected...

within our maze,

and we speak...

of things that should not be spoken,

Ware!

We saw once a face,

 which did not change...

instead it changed the faces of those,

around it...

we glimpsed the ocean,

claw its' way up onto the land...

grow legs and arms and claws and teeth,

and the shape of a man...

and now,

it nibbles away at our darkest corners...

and slowly ticks away,

the spare seconds of our life...

it feeds upon our fear,

We heard a truth...

that to survive we must,

find another way...

laugh at the darkness,

spin with the blade...

wear the jesters hat,

The upside down moon...

We must canter away now,

into the daark...

into the mist,

for we must...

evade the oncoming haywire storm,

and the leviathan that screams...

within its' folds,

run with us now...

dear traveller,

upon this Full moon...

Friday the 13th.'

 

You begin to sprint...

beside the great wolf,

born along...

as though you tread on air,

your lungs are filled to bursting...

and a haunting tune rocks the street,

as you dive with the wolf...

into a world,

of flickering dark and white...

You pass across landscapes,

swifter and swifter...

a million different images,

and happenstances flooding you...

Briefly you are within a bedroom,

where a pale girl lies asleep in her bed...

her heart is has left her chest,

and a the golden bird that was her heart...

perches and stares upon her windowsill.

 

You scamper with the wolf...

over cliffs,

skimming across the surface of reefs...

through the centre,

of the darkest caves...

where creatures grow without eyes,

and something breathes within the darkness...

and smells,

smells...

Through mirrors you and your guide dance,

their strange pale otherscape...

twisting your mind in circles,

endless circles...

yet still you fly on,

across and beneath oceans...

you see the creatures bound,

in their watery cages...

and the lost souls,

that were taken by the sea...

those who were alive,

and those who still are.

Philip Wardlow 

 

Through forests of dark wood...

and silver air,

quietly distilling thoughts...

you roam with the wolf,

and sometimes you feel the forest...

nudging against your mind,

unwinding your sanity...
and turning gears beneath the ground,

then you are out both...

and wooden planks,

pounded by a thousand years...

of wind and rain,

appear instead.

 

You tread them at a light trot...

and ocean laps on all sides,

you are within a village...

built above the tides,

where people speak little...

and kindness is shown,

by a warm fire...

a fish blistering in its' gold,

tea sipped from broken mugs...
 

 

Then you are within,

a pale and cold place...

and you feel an ending,

and the wolf has stopped running...

instead it turns to gaze at you,

endless and haunted as the song...

that still plays,

 

'You must now make a choice...

dear friend,

for a choice must always be made...

especially here.

So choose...

two ways remain to you,

though there is a third...

which we do not yet speak of,

The first!

See the table...

over to your right,

see the small flower?

Take it into thy hand!

To escape this reality,

devour the flower...

 

Your second option is not so simple,

to pass through the grey...

to make it to the homeland,

to inch into a bit way past nowhere...

for a while,

to see what lies where the streets stop...
stab the flower in the heart,

see its' ink bleed its' petals gold...

and the pale twirls that rise from between,

breathe in the wisps...

and feel yourself drift.

I must leave you now traveller...

for this choice is yours to make,

and for once...

it is yours to make in the quiet,

so choose what you will...

perform your deed,

for it is told...

that a deed performed,

full moon on Friday the 13th...

is capable of power.

Fare well...

and choose wisely.'

 

 

 

 

Here are a few other Superstitious Nonsenses in Honour,

of the last Full Moon Friday the 13th until 2049:

 

• Don't step on cracks in the ground (especially footpaths), it leads to bad luck; most likely something minor, most likely something that day.
• DO NOT break mirrors or glass, as it gives you a thousand years of bad luck indirectly.
• If a crow shits on you despair...for you will have terrible bad luck for the entire day.
• Black cats are un-luck. For those they favour, there is a certain degree of luck to be had. If they do not favour your however, your bad luck is likely to increase.
• Always face doors and dark roads, don't have your back to them.
• Be careful what you say aloud, because Fate's likely to hear and do the opposite thing to what you want.
• Don't look behind you...
• NOW.

 

AROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAR!!

 

 

 

   Well well well...happy Friday the 13th Darling Misfits of the Night....

Just can't get my head around sleeping...especially with how deliciously wired I feel. All I know is that there is nothing like heartily scaring people or heartily being scared. The good kind, the devil-may-care kind.

 

 

   Much Love and Scares....

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

The PostMortem of the Triangular Heart...

 

 

Welcome to the...

 

 

It is half past the hour...

the moon risen bright and distant,

and your heart is wide awake...

you hear a whisper,

in the wind that creeps through your window...

the way the trees sway,

and the night creatures chatter...

you hear them speak.

 

'We have become haunted by the twilight...

through the memories,

that hold us tight...

we wander the midnight halls,

of the prison we have created for ourselves....

for we can't let them in,

we can't let them in...

but alas,

we had forgotten...

that they got in long ago,

distorting our minds...

and making us divided,

we dream of him...

of a person,

a man...

again and again that we seek,

he appears like a flash in the distance...

amidst our dreams,

and dying within our nightmares...

until we loose grasp,

of the thin line...

between our reality,

and what isn't...

what shouldn't occur,

and when it's mere occurrence is madness....

what is left,

but to feel our mind cave in?

 

To...

harbour the jester demons,

that seek...

to eat away the light,

and oh boy is it dark now...

only a splinter of true light remains,

and more and more we find comfort...

with the cold creatures,

that consort with us...

and haunt our ways.'

 

The voices pass away from you...

and you feel a call within your bones,

you rise from your bed...

your thoughts stilling in your head,

and you creep your way...

pressing your fingertips,

 against the cold walls...

you make your way to the windowpane.

 

You see a tattered cloth...

held in place by a black string,

tied to the lock upon your windowsill...

you grasp it tight,

feel its' coarse cloth...

and glimpse words upon there.

 

'Dear reader you are invited...

to a most maddening of Festival nights,

to spin the wheel between fantasy...

and reality,

we require only your presence...

and the most garish of grins and sights.

 

A most splendid night awaits...

if you attend,

your instructions are as follows...

Climb out your window...

Search out the silver lamp,

and drown yourself within the hue...

kiss the lamp once,

beside its' spout...

and whisper your mortal fear.

All shall follow as should.

 

Regards...

The Sinister Meeting Room

and

Their Associates...

The Carnival of Madness.'

 

You climb your way beyond your window...

and steal beyond your garden,

your coat wrapped tight about you...

you are drawn on,

by an irresistible call...

until you reach a grey street,

drenched with just-gone rain...

yet the water rages,

it swirls in patterns...

from within it,

rises...

a lamp of silver.

 

 

You do as you were bid...

kiss the lamp,

and utter thy mortal fear...

of a sudden,

a door opens in the grey wet before you...

and you walk down.

 

Into echoing darkness...

and different lights,

Strange half-times...

of sleepy dragons,

that weave lazy tunes through the darkness...

and stars weaved,

into something you can wear...

and possess.

 

For we are made from stars...

by ninety percent a part,

and that is what attracts us to each other...

that viciously beautiful starlight,

that exists within each of us.

 

At first there is just darkness...

and hiddenness,

around you...

and then you see,

stretching before you...

a grand sea,

lit up by lanterns...

that pattern a forest,

beside the sea shore...

a single rope swing,

cradles the stars...

 in their luminescent arcticness.

 

You move through the forest...

until you reach a curving stretch of beach,

you see a thousand wrecks...

boats and trains and planes,

joined together by strings and ladders...

and lit by a thousand matches,

peculiar laughter...

lights the air about the shambles,

and the feast that rages...

with laughter and stamping,

upon tables bones and floor...

and you are soon drawn in,

enveloped by intoxicating smells...

seized by the wrists,

and pulled into the party...

by creatures with leering humble faces,

and upside-down smiles...

and hidden souls.

 

A drink is pressed into your hand...

and you feel it swirling you away,

lighting up your senses...

each figure reaches their hands for you,

an embrace...

a brief waltz,

the toast of a cup...

a kiss upon the hand,

a soft remark...

and you realize that they know you,

they all have known you...

and you are among your own,

for you are one of the strange...

and one of the ones trapped,

within the labyrinth...

but in time,

you realize...

that there are joys within the labyrinth too.

 

You see a figure smile at you...

beyond the faded lights,

 

 

You near close to the figure...

and they lean down,

from their great colourful light to you...

and whisper words.

 

'You must take your own victory now...

there is not always a helping hand,

when the darkness claws...

and the ghosts beat away at your doors.

When your memories rent you in half...

or your past or present hangs like chains,

But you musn't lose hope...

for we have long ago discovered the solution,

until we reach the place...

where the madness ends,

where the railways run past forgotten beaches...

and pale-haired creatures,

sew on their own wings...

where the city rests,

until then...

we take upon ourselves the masks,

and the diversions...

and we learn,

to scream with laughter...

and play the game right back to them,

dodge the wildfire...

and dream our illegal dreams.

So dream on eternal-young dreamer.'

 

 

You dwell for an eternity or two...

with those of the festival,

their maddening delights...

their fatal intoxications,

and the way we all slip down between the cracks...

beyond their cold eyes,

until we rest...

in the silence and music.

 

Eventually the world sways away...

and you feel the embrace,

of a thousand familiar creatures...

hold you within their deadened warmth,

and then let you go...

and yet you know within your bones and heart,

that you will meet once again.

 

You find yourself back within your bed...

and the world lightening,

into gold about you...

you sink back amongst your sheets,

and drift away,

within your world.

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

Hello there,

 

   My mind is in the deep sleep and a new demon is plaguing my mind. The sea is reaching high about my shoulders.

 

 

  Much Love and 2.37 AM kisses,

 

Miss CLScarlett xx



 

 

 

 



 

 

 

The Turbulant Rise of Our Sea...

 

We creep into the other world...

we catapult into the mad,

we are lost in an ether of glowing lights...

and the eternal swing that sits between,

 the doorway to the stars...

we sew on wings,

and listen to the warm blue whispers...

 of Indian elephants,

for we do not forget where the mist began and we ended...

We dream each night,

that there is an approaching storm...

one that will devour and take all who we love,

and each time we are too late...

each time we are left living,

 with the demons of the storm.

 

Listen to our words,

catch a glimpse did you?

Of a starlight cat...

twining about a doorway?

That is our madness you see...

we chase a cat with fur like the stars,

through our dreams and waking light...

yet we cannot find it,

we cannot find what we were searching for...

 

A night ago we spent twelve hours in the twilight,

we became the leering jester...

lying through our teeth,

and dancing about the bonfires that spat into the Heavens...

our senses spinning,

through a chaos of sensations and staring eyes...

and a world shivering with silver life,

it has left everything void...

and the memory of a dream within a dream,

we retrace our steps back through the years...

and eventually find ourselves beside,

the rock pools of our souls...

 

 

That thing won't protect you girl - that thing you hold so dear,
   Have you forgotten already who held you last night?

Have you forgotten who kept you as you cried yourself to sleep?
That guy can't love you girl,

that guy you hold so dear,
    Have you forgotten already who picked up your heart?

Have you forgotten who cut his hands as he picked up each piece?
The sea won't numb you girl,

 the sea that you wish to hold so dear,
    Have you forgotten already who pulled you out?

Have you forgotten who filled you with breath?
Why do you forget dear girl,

why do you cry at night?

Why is the darkness never enough,

 to hide your shaking frame,

your throat filled with ice?
  Why do you forget dear girl,

each night it is the same...

I hold you in my arms,

yet the night after you're crying again.

 



 

An old Tale...

 

We listen to the trail of our thoughts...

dripping down through the floorboards below us,

and an ancient heart...

within the young,

you see this is our curse...

when we were young,

we saw the swiftening of time...

and realized ourselves doomed,

to have centuries-old knowledge...

in minds that had barely had a chance to breathe,

so we grew up distorted...

and with a radar for things we should not know,

we opened the forbidden doors...

and let the monsters in.

 

 

 

So we creep down the hallways...

of the labyrinth we created,

and wonder when we became so totally lost...

but all the doors are soldered shut,

and we hear claws scratching at night...

and the leviathans in our veins,

keeping us awake...

We sneak beneath the dust,

and the amber light of our secrets...

to find the pathways through our oceans,

until eventually...

each time,

we are faced with a choice...

what did we do,

to lock ourselves in a limbo of repeat...

that presents the same question,

at each point of breakage...

we feel our soul being torn out,

by the beings that feed on us in the low hours...

and find ways to block out the light.

 

So we scramble on...

to a place we had forgotten,

because the true crime of it...

is that we allowed the real power of our bones,

to be forgotten...

we thought,

that we had no right to lift our head...

that we had no right to what we are,

you hammer yourself down...

until the memory of who you were,

fades...

remember what you are capable of,

for it is the only way out...

of this labyrinth.

 

In the end we have no flattery or diplomacy...

only action,

and perhaps then our words will be like dust...

and we will have forgotten,

that they were ever written on parchment...

so we deny ourselves again and again,

and each time...

we see the off-kilter-ness within us growing,

when nothing makes sense...

and the bullet seems the greatest comfort,

Fate drags us screaming back alive...

another punch,

another bullet from his machine gun...

that wounds only what is within our head,

locked within...

we find solstice,

within a troubled word...

that offers little light or compassion for weakness,

and we find our small coves to retreat to...

where the darkness is less,

and we can dwell beside ourselves...

without outright hatred.

 

 

 Ideas are gathering in my mind...a business perhaps? Sorry dears, I'm keeping this one very close to my chest. I am sorry for the absence, I've been writing and writing  my book, and I am close to finishing the re-write of the second volume.
  The space I occupy within the puzzle box is shifting, and sometimes I wish it would stop.

  Much Love,

   Miss CLScarlett xx



 

 

The Broken Toy that Stowed Away....

 

 



You stir beneath your dark slumber...

you raise your head from the velvet of the couch,

as you hear the loneliest of bells toll out...

you have been in the reception room,

of the Sinister Meeting Room so long...

that the sunlight is a dream,

and the ocean is a tune that plays in your head...

you leap as a shadow lamp blows its' light,

and momentary shadows...

disguise the Interlude sign,

 that still sits in the same place...

once it reappears,

you see it has changed...

and that new words upon it now read;

 

'You must stand and jump...

through the fire and sleet,

you must tread out far...

and follow every street,

follow our shadows...

now down the hall,

listen not to the voices that echo...

calling to you through every door,

for you must reach the land where the colours are aged...

where the light endures,

and the horizon draws near...

even as the darkness presses in too,

for to reach the true heart and place...

you must travel a little more.'

 

You get from the couch,

and walk forward beneath the blown light...

you feel yourself surrounded by shadow,

and your heart like ice...

eventually you pass the hall,

and its' ghostly inhabitants and leviathans...

and beneath your feet,

old wooden boards...

replace the carpet there.

 

You travel into night...

beneath glistening faded stars,

you hear the licking...

of water against,

the jetty you move along...

you hear stories,

whispered to you against the wind...

from out there in the void,

as you glimpse your first light and guide.

 

The voices from the water speak...

 

'There are a great many mysteries here,

songs that play at half past one...

through the moaning wind and the pipes that line the jetty,

We knew a boy that used to dwell near here...

he was cursed to appear as a cat,

and sometimes as a monster...

for he had lost his wings you see,

and had been doomed to walk the sands of our shores...

for all of time,

now he has disappeared to us...

for the ocean has taken him,

the ocean has taken him...

and now,

please allow us to introduce your guide...

he is a weathered man,

who sometimes appears more a part o the sea and sky...

than the land.

His eyes are a murky blue...

and at times he will feed upon your deepest of fears,

but he is your only chance...

your only guide,

and follow him and trust...

that he will lead you byy the light.

He answers to the name Kraken...

and you must ensure,

that not once do you look into his eyes...

or allow your back to turn.'

 

Kraken leads you silently...

away from the jetty and the dark sea,

and into a wood drenched from the just-fallen rain...

and with great pools that glint,

from within ornate tree roots...

you are led deeper and deeper into the forest,

and the trees crowd about you more and more...

your head fills with a fogginess,

and at times you lose track...

of where you place your feet,

a lone wolf releases a chilling cry...

and it is only then,

that you realize that the lantern has dimmed...

 almost entirely,

and Kraken has shifted away into the gloom...

 

You stop...

your heart growing colder and colder,

as the night and trees and fear presses in...

and then,

you feel a heat...

scorching your back behind you,

and you turn.

 

There stands Kraken...

though now not a weathered man,

no...

now he hunches beneath a cloak and hood,

the sharpest of smiles cutting across his face...

as he holds fingers that burst with flames,

closer and closer to your skin...

he seizes your wrist,

burning down through your skin...

as he whispers hoarsely to you;

 

'For us to travel further...

you must allow me to mark you as mine,

to be bound to my storms...

my leviathans and to be eaten away by my darkness,

for your fear shall nourish me...

and come Child,

there is no other way forward except through me...

so hold still,

you are already partway mine already...

just look at your wrist.'

 

 

You pull back...

scratch and yell,

and somehow manage to slip your wrist...

safely away from Kraken's fingers,

you sprint away through the woods...

even as the darkness that was a man,

swarms after you...

now just a chaos of tidal waves,

lightning, currents and reaching arms...

and you understand finally,

that Kraken is the boy who lost his wings...

who became something else,

became this.

 

You run and run and run...

until quite suddenly,

you are leaving the forest...

and you are in a field of blue flowers,

beneath the evening moon...

and Kraken has disappeared.

 

 

Their scent fills you...

and as you reach down to grasp a handful,

they reach out to you too...

and blue dreams explode into the air,

you struggle to believe what you see...

or if it is even real,

as the blue become a stream beneath you...

and you are swept away,

away from the woods...

away from the field,

and away from all you know...

you travel past crumbling cities,

and ships made of white bone...

that long ago broke against forgotten shores,

until eventually...

the stream deposits you,

in the most grandest of lagoons...

and it is then that you realise,

that the sky is dark for all but the stars...

and that a monstrous light,

floats upon the water...

in the near distance,

 

Le Jeu (Christian Schloe).

 

The she-Moon turns to gaze at you...

as you drift closer and her eyes blink slow arcs at you,

and then her words are all around you...

slow and Heavenly;

 

'To enter the final heart and place,

you must make a choice now...

allow me to engulf you,

to be devoured here...

and within you shall find,

what you have been searching for...

so long,

the only other option is to wait here...

perhaps Kraken shall find you again,

and perhaps he shall bleed you of everything good...

within.

Make thy choice...

traveller of whim.'

 

You remember again Kraken's burning fingers...

and his promise to mark you as his,

and with no hesitation you swim closer to the she-Moon.

 

Her mouth drops away into  darkness vast and wide...

yet at its' very end,

the smallest of lights flickers there...

you are tugged by a current,

deeper into the heart of the she-Moon...

and closer to the final light.

You past shades of shadow in brown and silver...

and faded tunes that echo incomprehensibly.

 

Then...

of a sudden,

you are there...

cascading out into a whole new world.

The sky here is lilac...

and its' waters divine,

a city glistens on the shore in the distance...

and a ship floats on its' moor,

 

 

 

You realize that you can stay here forever...

that this is your new life,

a world different to the one we know...

without its' jaded personality, horrors and control,

you feel the smallest of wings grow upon your back...

and lift you from the sea,

as you are flown to the shores of your new home...

now you may rest,

and burn the darkness away...

with the light.

 

For a hundred million golden nights hence.

 

 

 

 

 

     Have you ever reached a point in your life, where no matter what your age or circumstances...you know that you and your world must change? I've been feeling the quickening of time since I was very young, and now I know...I must not live like this anymore, I cannot. It must happen soon.

   A new idea has radiated to life within me...something to combine both writing and pastry, and to allow me to work for myself. It is merely a matter of time and Fate. Words have become so powerful...and mayhaps one day they will evolve and transform enough to become actual beings.

 

   We are capable of absolutely anything...if only we could break out of the dream they've locked us in.

 

  Much Love and I hope you too can find your new land.

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 

P.S. I hear tell that a ship is setting sail next year from the cities' dock, though there are whispers it will leave this Spring for different waters. I have received a message...and it is now apparent to me that I am to attend this voyage, and sail to new horizons.

 

 



Welcome to Silent Hill...

 

 

 

Flowers open

Winter's spoken

The same world but a view has changed

A veil has lifted

The ground has shifted

What you only longed for is here

A moment mends a broken heart

If you'd only known it from the start

The moments form just who we are

You were always here

......

Listen to our words...

and move out into the cold dark.

 

Feel yourself step into the mist...

and become immersed.

 

You have taken the watch within the woods,

smashed it down and dust you took...

and so the words above and tune came to you.

 

For the Sinister Meeting Room has answered you...

 

Come to our halls,

listen to our words...

 

You find yourself walking in a town drenched by rain,

it runs silver trails down mossy walls...

where roosters drink milk,

and gentlemen angels laugh and try to steal Chai Tea...

we put on our wings,

and flickered through the rain...

fleeting grins from dark eyes and pale faces,

my lips bleed red...

and my eyes black,

there's something missing...

there's something missing.

 

By the way...

 

Welcome to Silent Hill.

 

It is here the Sinister Meeting Room has called you too...

uttering your secret name,

you performed the ritual...

and made the vow,

and so you are tied...

entwined,

commanded...

invited,

to attend our night.

 

Step closer if you please dear Sir...

and MadMadam,

to our Bonfire of Ancients...

 

 

It is here we release the souls of the others...

where we cast the lines of our hearts into the dead amber night skyy.

We search and fish for monsters...

so that we may have our souls devoured,

for we cannot stop...

and we cannot stop the hunger,

of them...

and so the monsters devour,

but no...

not you dear traveller,

you shall travel on...

for though your heart is torn apart,

you find yourself moving on...

find yourself erasing and erasing and erasing what is now gone.

 

So that you may continue on...

 

A figure appears from behind the bonfire,

a familiar figure draped in royal purple...

he bows his sharp jaw to you,

the most ferocious of smiles grinning out to you...

and he whispers the following words;

 

'MadMadam, Sir...listen, hush...

come with me.

 

We must travel through Silent Hill...

through the land of Memory Sharks,

leviathans of the deep.

For we wade in that daerkness...

and by the day it grows,

but we bare our laughter like a weapon...

like a match flame,

and we know that we can start an inferno through it.

 

Do not lose yourself to the silence...

for though it draws and haunts,

attaches itself and clings...

it can make a shell of you,

don't let it in...

don't let it in.

But...

Listen.

For the silence appears to me...

as a figure tall and white,

pale as bone in face and skin...

eyes and hair and ice-cold heart,

he comes to me in the night...

and when I walk the streets slowly in the dark,

his hand and claws gripping my shoulders...

and his sharp words in our ears.

 

 

 

I dreamt the other night...

as I sat beside a meadow,

I was upon a highway...

deep in the bush,

in the deep, cold night...

there was no one else,

and on the highway I stood...

and in the distance,

a silver sports car appeared...

it drifted and swerved across the road,

closer and closer towards me...

I leapt for the bushes about the highway,

yet the dream ended before I saw if I was hit.

 

But now...

we must break from the dreams and continue on.

 

We pass beyond the warmth of the bonfire...

until we come to the wayward cliffs and giants of my homeland,

tread the wet sands as though it were glass...

hear the ancient tales the waves hiss to you as they cut into the shore,

Listen to...'

 

The Sea - 'A child once lived here years ago,

his eyes had been the colour of plums back then...

and his heart like a sun,

yet he was in love with a woman...

a woman that appeared from beneath our waters to him,

and who was as white as ice...

her eyes as dark as Hell,

She took him away...

drew him to the beach day by day,

what he knew not however...

was that the woman was dying,

second by second...

and second by second it was infecting him,

his eyes grew from lilac to mist...

Until he could no longer see,

and so we took him,

within...

but,

years later he escaped...

and we no longer know where he lies,

for his light has been hidden from us...

and only our language he took,

to the other end...

now our land is grey,

and storm-ridden.

Without him.'

 

Strange Phenomena - Duy Huynh

 

You follow your guide...

past the lonely lands,

and finally you happen across a peculiar fellow...

playing brass melodies upon a dead tree,

you see the notes of his song...

explode into colour against the grey,

and feel that you are witnessing....

 something forbidden,

it is then as the music twines about you...

that a doorway open by his feet,

descending down deep into the earth...

it is here that your purple-clad guide leads you.

 

You sink into darkness...

and the briefest glint of crystal veins,

built into the earth...

as you travel down a flight of stairs,

and soon an aged light begins to grow...

you follow your guide towards its' warmth,

and see velvet replace the bare stone at your feet...

angels and dragons,

adorn the walls...

mantels made from thousand-year old cedars,

sit beside a raging fireplace...

the smell of spices, chocolate and butter,

drift into the room to you...

while the music of the man above,

seeps through the ground above you...

to your ears.

 

You are shown to an armchair,

beside the fireplace...

surrounded by scrolls,

taxidermy and suites of armour...

and commanded to wait,

your curious guide disappears only briefly...

and when he returns he brings with him a small sign,

placed at the top of a tree-like stand...

he places it on the table before you,

along with a tray of hot chocolate, croissants...

strawberries and cream,

and he bows low to you,

he utters not a word...

yet the briefest of sly winks,

before he spins around twice...

and disappears in a cloud of lilac smoke.

 

You frown confused,

yet comfortable in your seat...

and you lean forward to better read the sign;

 



You turn the sign around...

and glimpse the following words,

written in trailing ink;

 

'The Sinister Meeting Room has entered an interlude,

and you dear traveller shall be required to wait...

you may dwell here within our reception room,

dined by the clock...

and cocktails when the hour is late,

or if you so wish...

you may say the words,

'Rentaire Bellarre'...

After which you will seize the knife,

 beside the bottle of wine...

and stab thyself through the reflection nearby,

hung upon our wall...

only then can you be free.'

 

 

'An interlude...

if you please,

of five and three quarter minutes and hours.'

 

The choice...is now yours.

 

 

 

 

 

    We rarely see things as they actually are...like the other day. I was walking down the road and stepped into a puddle, and instantly I was sucked down into an ocean. The puddle wasn't a puddle...it was an ocean.

 

   Things tick away at me, and ever since that puddle the water has invaded and risen in my house to almost the edge of my bed. I look over the edge sometimes...and see the fish and small sharks; the large jellyfish that often float close enough near to me each night to leave cuts on my body. We are learning to breathe underwater, yet I hope we can achieve such a thing before the water covers my head...before the end.

 

   Each night the taps drip, and I can't turn them off...because I don't have hands, because I left them somewhere when I was still awake...and not sleeping. Again. Damn bloody hands, always disappearing. Maybe one day I'll chain them to my wrists. Anyone else out there have problems with their hands?

 

  Much Love,

 

Miss CLScarlett xx