Die Writing

Carnival

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on August 17, 2016

He felt better about the carnival being in town than actually being at the carnival. Everyone had gone, and he did, too. Though he would sneak away, and settle on the far side of the carousel.

There, submerged in the soft shadows, facing the tangled mess of ropes and stakes that held the tents taut, he would sit on the trampled grass with his back against a piece of railing. He felt a great human warmth in the drifting, singing laughter, the strung up electric lights, the smell of saw dust and manure. Errant words and phrases fluttered by him like moths.

The carnival filled him with a jittery energy, made it hard to focus on any thought or conversation. Still he felt that the world better off with a carnival in it.

A floating house of muisc

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on December 29, 2014

It is a large house, with arches leading from room to room. The ceiling disappear somewhere high above, lost between the white, billowing sheets hanging everywhere. Perhaps the ceiling are not even there – all the rooms are filled with warm sunlight filtering in from somewhere; its source is not exactly clear.

I wonder between the rooms. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of the outside – the sheets, the languid sails, part, revealing fading green grass and gnarled, vast trees. I seem to be alone, though voices of people and instruments fill this house with melancholy music. Who produces this music I do not know. Perhaps, it is the imps of my own imagination’s making.

The sheets glide past my limbs, and the music washes over my mind. The house is shifting, turning, embracing, perhaps endless.

A circus dream

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on January 11, 2012

I had a dream the other night. It was such a fantastic dream.

There was a great darkness, and flashes of light that sparked against that darkness. The sinister shadows flowed from every crack, flooded the sky. Yet the sparks refused to yield. They held on and blistered the night around them.

I saw a man and a woman on a wire as they walked precarious toward heaven. Great winds and thunderclouds tore at them, but they could not be shaken.

I saw a monster cry over its lover as she drew her last breath in its arms.

And then I saw a brave little mouse draw its sword against a mighty dragon.

It was such a fantastic dream. But it left me so very sad.

You will die

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on April 12, 2011

Aside

Inspired by my very first night in Portland, OR.

Hahahaha

The large digital clock on the wall displays not only hours, minutes, and seconds, but also fractions of a second. The glowing red digits blur into a furious mist as the clock accounts the relentless avalanche of time.

Directly underneath the clock, a sign reads in stark bold letters, YOU WILL DIE.

And just beneath the sign, framed by a varied collection of bottled liquors and girls dressed in corsets and lace, is the smiling, smirking proprietor. His well-worn patterned suit doesn’t fit quite right, and his teeth are stained with nicotine. His eyes spark and he spots you walking up to the bar, he motions sharply to one of the girls.

The girl pours something into a glass below the bar, and then slowly slides the drink toward you as she leans on the stained wood. She smiles sweetly, rests her chin on her hand, a perfect picture of the friendly cute girl next you’ve had a crush since forever. Somehow, this girl even looks familiar.

The proprietor waves his hand vaguely toward the girl and the drink, and his tongue flickers across his lips as he speaks.

“Have some. Don’t be a stranger.”

The three sisters

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on March 16, 2011

The three sisters fought. It’s not unusual for siblings to get into fights, especially when they have been around each other for a fantastic length of time, and these three have been around each other since the beginning of time. They were the Fates, and this fight was worse than any before.

Overwhelmed with each other, the Sisters abandoned their threads and left their cave. They burst into the world they have not seen it’s been created, determined that they could make sense of the world, they could save the world from itself. You see, they tend to the threads of Life, but the threads are so infinitely tangled. It’s stressful being the Fates. It’s hard trying to figure out the meaning of an infinite knot. Especially if you have to convince the other two sisters that you are right.

The first Sister, the Beautiful Fate, thought she could merely inspire the world with her presence. If they could only see how beautiful Fate was, they would trust the Universe, and they would find their own way in faith. The people clamored, and mobbed in chaos.

The second Sister, the Clever Fate, thought that the world simply needed to be arranged in better, simpler way. She set about it, but soon she ended up with another, albeit different infinite knot. The people were lost and confused.

But the third Sister, the Sad Fate, did nothing. She sat in a street-side cafe with a glass of dark wine. She looked at people who passed her by and sometimes smiled, but mostly just kept to herself. No one recognized her. Not everyone even smiled back. The Sad Fate knew, that eventually all the odds would even themselves out, and you just had to be patient. There was no rushing the knot. It was untangling itself all along. So she sat by the street, and watched the people go by, and hoped the rain would come soon.

The Devil and the Musicians, part 4

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on September 7, 2010

Aside

Sometimes you can’t help but write.

Have a drink

The Musicians were played loose, fast, furious. Their fingers were running wild over the strings. They were playing the kind of music that leads you both in a dance, and you can simply close your eyes in its rhythmic bliss. The Violinist stepped down the stage, playing with such intensity that flames seemed to leap off the strings. No human instrument could survive this music.

When the Woman entered, leaned against the frame to watch the Violinist. He knew she was here. The slightest hint of her fragrance, the thinnest of her shadow was all he needed to know. He smiled, and started on the song’s last verse. As she came closer, a few of the patrons stood up, clearing a table near the stage. She sat down at the table. A waiter glided by, setting down two glasses of red wine.

The last note rang, the Violinist hung up the bow and the violin, nodded to the rest of the Musicians, and stepped off the stage. The band began the next song.

The Violinist and the Woman sat across from each other in silence. He smiled, and she was beautiful. The song went on, winding through verses and lines.

“Just one song,” said the Devil.

“I know,” said the Violinist almost inaudibly.

The song was nearing the end. The Violinist kissed the air, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

The last notes struck. The Violinist peered at the Woman, desperately trying to remember every bit of her.

An unseen force pressed on his chest, pushing him away from the table. He tried to grab the table. The force pressed harder and threw him at the steps at the bottom of the stage.

“Thank you,” he whispered for the Woman through the tears, as she stood up and started walking toward the door.

In another instant, he was back on the stage, huddled, picking up his violin.

The Devil smiled bitterly.

The Devil and the Musicians, part 3

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on August 19, 2010

Aside

This may seem like the end, but…

Again

The Musicians played on, and the joint was full. Every table, every chair, even the walls were filled with people leaning closer and listening, swaying with the beat. All onlookers drank the sweet music, smiling, except the Devil. He was in usual spot, in the very back of the house, leaning against the wall, trembling hands holding on to the never-ending cigarette.

“Play for me,” the Devil asked in a quivering voice.

“No,” the Musicians shook their heads.

The Devil stood up. He took a long drag off the cigarette, and the thick smoke began to pour from his lips, he raised his cane and rudely poked the man sitting in front of him. The man promptly disappeared in a wisp of thin black smoke.

“Play for me!” The Devil demanded, but the Musicians did not answer.

The Devil swung his cane, and the whole arc of people melted into black smoke. He began to walk toward the stage. A small table that was in his way began to smolder, then turned into cinders and fell apart. He raised the cane above his head.

“Play for me!” The Devil thundered, and again was left unanswered. He brought the cane down, and the entire crowd disappeared. The Devil and the Musicians were the only ones that remained in the place.  The music ceased. Slowly, he began to approach the stage, burning, scorching his way across the floor. At the edge of the stage, he stopped and reached his hand toward one of the Musicians, but something stopped him.

The Devil screamed, roared, flames leaped from him onto the floor, the tables, and the walls. The joint filled with the fires of his rage, and yet the Musicians were unmoved. When his screams died down, one of the Musicians – The Guitar Player – stepped forward, holding out his instrument for the Devil. In silence, his head hung low, the Devil accepted, and stepped onto the stage. The Guitar Player stepped down, and walked out of the place.

The Devil turned around to see the place restored, and a new audience taking seats at the tables.

The Devil and the Musicians, part 2

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on July 9, 2010

Aside

I can’t stop listening to this band.

Beautiful

It was late in the night, and the Violinist stepped down stage to play a solo. With his eyes closed, and leaning into his instrument, he carefully, patiently hung the lonely notes on the midnight air. The rest of the band huddled behind him. They seemed to be in a slumber as the Violinist played, their stillness occasionally betrayed by a nod or a tap in rhythm with the music.  Silence entered the room as everyone intently listened to his tale of love.

He didn’t have to look up, or even open his eyes to know that She was here. Her presence was so poignant to him that a beating heart was the only sense he needed to feel her near. No one had seen her enter, and it’s entirely odd how she had found an empty table in the crowded house. Strange things happened in this joint.

Yet there she was, beautiful as a summer’s shadow. All that the Violinist could do was grip his instrument tighter, draw a deep breath, and keep on playing. Tears rolled down his face. He dared step closer to the edge of the stage, and leaned forward, inching toward the temptation. But as he opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of the old memory, she was gone in a wisp of thin black smoke. Directly behind her, leaning on the wall, was the Devil, the never-ending cigarette stuck in the wicked grin.

“You can have her,” the Devil said silently.

“No, I can’t,” replied the Violinist.

The Devil and the Musicians

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on July 2, 2010

Aside

A true story.

Down and low

It wasn’t just music they were playing; these were memories. From the gypsy strings, they effortlessly crawled into your heart, curled into a ball, and gave that unequaled comfort of a love long lost, of tears long since dried. In the question of who came first – the music or the Musicians – it was definitely the music. The Musicians hung off their instruments, held up by something unseen, but undeniably felt.

Meanwhile, the Devil sat in the back of the room, the never-ending cigarette between his lips. The never-ending cigarette, of course, is a perk of being the Devil. He closed his eyes, and tapped his fingers to the slow beat. This was his favorite place to be.

“I want your souls,” the Devil said without moving his lips.

“How we wish we could give them to you,” the Musicians replied with their strings.

The Devil smiled, heartbroken, and thought about all the times he’s been here already, and all the nights he was going to spend here yet.