Sitting in his velvet crimson chair in a corner of this dark room he stares at nothing in particular, yet he sees too far. The colours of the outside world swirl around his weakened state of mind, taunting him. He frowns slightly, then grins. His mind races forward through the chorus of yells and noises that surround him. 'They are all puppets', he whispers to himself, 'a brood of inanimate bodies controlled by masks'. His dark eyes sway in their sockets from side to side as if to lock on a target that doesn't exist. An army of clockwork machines marches straight past him, startling him and making him lose focus. Yet he does not shut his eyes. He follows these machines into alleys lit with blue and green ribbons dangling from the balconies on each side that shine as they dance with the night's breeze. From the balconies, with a sudden burst of sound, flutters out an orchestra of butterflies, producing different musical notes with each beat of the wing.
His anger swells, his eyes shudder. The choreographed flight of the butterflies is abruptly halted as they suddenly shower down onto the machines beneath them. The colours and the sounds vanish, and a darkness looms over the alleys. The butterflies' wings melt and corrode the intricate clockworks of these mechanical abominations, as they stand there, lost in the darkness. His grin grows even larger, 'let this night be remembered as the eclipse of the moon. Tonight their shall be no celestial light, for I have cast my gruesome plight'.
And as he utters these last words he sits up from his chair and flicks his eyes and walks out of this dark room, into the night.
No comments:
Post a Comment