His request? For me to write something surreal. And like most things I wrote back in the day - this one ended up as angst. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.
Edited a little, because I'm older and I know better than my 20 year old self. Here goes..!
We come with the glitter studded sky, hiding in the soft folds of night.
Unseen. Unheard. Unexpected.
No.
He sees Us. Hears Us. Expects Us. He alone knows, and he alone understands. We've come to haunt. With a grace never seen by Our victims, We'll glide softly through the air, caressing and coaxing all to incoherent insanity. The gentlest hold slowly turning to a choke. None will die, yet all will be scarred.
He smiles. For he believes himself prepared. Delusional fool.
Cocooned in a castle of stone, protected, but never from me, never from Us. No gates will hinder Us, no guards will stop Us. Hidden between paintings great and armours cold, but still We will seek him. And always, We know.. I know where he is.
He is different tonight. I can feel it from his firm footsteps as he strides to his piano, a determination I have not seen for so long so apparent on his weathered face. I'll call her here. His thoughts ring loud and clear. More determined than it has been in years. I've nothing to fear. Not of the dark, not of the deafening silence that comes with her presence, and especially not of her.
His determination amuses Us, and We smile. With a single nod, They leave me, because he is mine. It is not him that They've come for, but he is what I have come here for. He is mine.
As he sits on the soft velvet cushion, it begins.
With every gentle stroke he will remember me.
The golden sunlight of a glorious summer day. The depressed dark of a room shielded by heavy curtains. A tinkling laughter. A heaving sob. The light cheerfulness of a cotton dress. The fragile beauty of a white nightgown. He will remember and so he will weep.
A wispy figure, a fading memory.
He shivers, yet he doesn't stop playing. He knows I am here, as I have been every night for ten years. I approach him softly, my light footsteps lost on thick carpet. He knows it's time.
Softly I stroke his graying hair. Has it been so long already? Dignified lines grace his face, and I mourn my own smooth cheeks, a face that will never be tarnished by wisdom and experience. I kiss the stanger's head, for the man I knew is all but gone. He tries to ignore me. He always does. But he knows he will surrender. Because in the end, it is all he can do.
Resigned to this nightly ritual, he starts.
Note by note, his hands danced, creating a haunting melody, and I shiver in anticipation. His figure lazily sways, betraying the speed of his elegant fingers, flirting to and fro over the ebony and ivory keys. The caress of a lover, deceptively loving, ever hating.
My song. He may hate with all the power that remains within him. But this is my song.
Neither here, nor there, he drifts in memories. Slowly drowning under exquisite torture. For there I was, as he saw me last. Beneath a sky much like tonight, a peaceful dark illuminated by moonlight. A light breeze ruffling the trees, breaking the hold the heat had on us. Stifling. Infuriating. Provoking.
Words, like knives hurtle to and fro. Calculated to sting. Unintended pain. It was the same. Yet different. There were no apologies, even as everything came to a grinding halt. Every joy ignored. Every pain magnified.
The song builds to a crescendo.
An expensive vase, thrown carelessly. Shattering in a cloud of angry white shards. Plummeting to the carpeted floor. A single crash and silence. A threat unheeded. The start of forever.
He whispers once more, enunciating clearly in whispers, words he would never forget.
Die then and leave me be.
Jump and be at peace.
Whine no more, wench.
Anger. There was so much anger. His mind abandons the present completely for the past, as he hears me whisper goodbye once more. Curls that forever frame my face wave in a gesture of farewell as I stand on the ledge, he walks away and doesn't see the tears track down my face.
Goodbye.
Falling.
Falling.
Fallen.
He turns then, and I remember, floating up, weightless, embraced by Them, as They welcome me to Their fold. They smile and point, him. A broken figure, curled on the floor in grief.
NoNoNoNoNo.
Fascinated I delve more into the voice that echoes endlessly. Ricocheting around the walls and going through me in delicious waves.
Don'tLeaveDon'tLeaveDon'tLeave
They teach me then, guiding my luminescent hands to his heart and taught me. I cradled his heart, unsure of what to do.
They smiled.
They always, always smiled.
Powerful thuds, loud and fast. I stroke with my thumb and I hear quiet whimpers. I looked at Them in wonder. And in turn They guide me, full of tenderness. They tightened my grip.
Squeeze.
He hurts and I smile.
We smile.
Raw anguish. So potent. An intoxicating drug feeding me, encasing my broken heart in steel. I will never leave you. A smile and I gently cradle his heart, squeezing harder and harder still with every moment that passes, he sobs but he doesn't stop.
He can't stop.
With bleeding fingers he will play. With frostbite damaged nerves, he will play. I love you…
Forcefully he ends the song. Head no longer light, determination no longer present. He leans forward, refusing to see me. A pathetic broken figure of a man.
It matters not. My presence here is not out of wish to be seen, only to be felt. He acknowledges me by anticipation of pain, it is enough. I release him and bid him good night, leaving a tender kiss upon his pale lips.
I am regret. I am guilt. I am remorse. And I will never leave you.
1 comment:
Wow, madam. How do I envy those guys - I mean Ilvan J. Casajid and the "He" of the story ( visited intimately by a lot of you :)).
Anyhow, I hereby let you know my birthday is on the 12th of April :). I know I don't stand a chance, but it's worth the try.
Well any other date will do actually. The 1ste of January or the 31st of December. X-mas? or the 5th of December - Sinterklaas. Or just weekly all Fridays, starting next week.
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