jayseven Posted February 8, 2008 Share Posted February 8, 2008 “Twelve clouds to go.†A grey suit draped on a tray on wheels on the left and beeps in the background. “I never thought I wouldn’t be anywhere else†echoed like static from behind the door. The tiles on the floor didn’t match the cushioned footsteps. The smell of peaches burns your nose. The ghost of a crowded room filled the vacant hallway, scattered with furniture dressed in discarded clothing. A library of wardrobes no longer ordered by colour or type. You think, there must be loads of naked people running around, looking for their clothes. Perhaps they haven’t noticed. Creeping from under the door, a blue light wavered as if someone was moving in front of a projector. The footsteps opened the door. “Ah, let’s guess. You must be new here, am I right? Come on in. You think I’m going to cheat? My visitor, I’m afraid I don’t even know where the line is. A fair competition in these times, I’m sure. Interesting décor in here, no? Please, do not fear that your life shall burn and char, oh no. Indeed you shall feel remorse under your skin through this ink, but no more, no less. †You limp towards the seat in the middle of the room, remembering your first kiss, then your first cut. His tapping reduces the machine to an object. His bow-tie and glasses fight for your attention, avoiding the movement of his hands to stop the flinching. “I am the Weatherman. I control the weather, I block out the light. I rain down on you, I freeze you. I suffocate you. Please don’t spoil my day.†Chains criss-cross his suitless torso, like hedges on fields seen from an aeroplane, pocket to pocket, crease to button hole. “I will pour on you, and you shall not rust.†You avoid the glint in his eye, the twirl of his moustache. He glides around from side to side, his sleeves rolling up. “Now repeat after me.†He grabs your arms and holds them against the arm-rests, his face filling your vision. You gulp; a mouth filled with puss and blood causes you to gag it back up. You can tell the man does not like spitting, so you dribble it down your front. “When the light is gone, I must learn to be guided by the other beacons in the firmament…†You cough, you splutter. You mumble unsanitary utterances. The Fluorescent lights buzz, flicker, and snap off like lightning in reverse, leaving a rumble in your retinas behind. “Night is but the tragedy of day…†Mmmf. Retch. “But the sun…†a blacklight conquers the room, his teeth sit like lumps of hot ice, vibrating slowly. The walls are flooded with illiterate scrawls illegible from where you sit, looking manic, laughing at you, “… the sun rises from the death of the moon.†You try closing your eyes, but a sound like tearing as you do so makes you stop. You taste copper in your mouth. He scutters away from you, leans on the wall half-crouched, finding his next speech painful to keep within himself. “You… a star impregnated with all these hopes, these dreams and ideas…†His spittle drools down your face, “are not fit to be this close to humanity. Oh believe me, for I looked, for I cared. But can the Day truly find rebirth if the earth can never sleep?†From behind the door, you hear a child singing lamely; “Humpty Dumpty sat on… on a tuffet, eating …ting blackbird pie. Along came a spider…der pushed him off… -fagain so he broke his crown, saying “what a good… good boy am I†and slept on through the… the rain as the clock struck one for the…the little boy who lives down the…one lane.†The man was facing the door when the song finished, head down in prayer as he listened, his voice coming from elsewhere. “Dare you turn down rescue from a sinking ship, when your hands are tied? You saw those things at my door, sitting heavy, watched and burned with all inquiring eyes; forever timeless. Do you not wish to join them?†You drum your fingers. The dots on the ceiling leer at you like Rorschach blobs; faces de-puzzle themselves and motion to laugh; talking amongst themselves with nods and glances in your direction. They warp and dissolve into each other – a whole crowd of them waiting in line to gawp and jeer at you, at your position in the room. You stop drumming your fingers. You look back to where the man was standing, but he is not there. “You see? You are distracted by your own individuality, your lack of control over which sense to use when. Are you going to let your life be bent to your imaginations will?†The machine begins to whirr, to clink and clank like a dentist’s washing machine. The black light visibly loses power, and the light strewn across the floor from the gap at the bottom of the door does the same. A smell of sulphur greets you. You think about the last time you laughed. “We will see to it. Never again.†Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Supergrunch Posted February 8, 2008 Share Posted February 8, 2008 Nice and surreal... I like it. It reads a little like Haruki Murakami crossed with Neil Gaiman, and especially brings to mind the almost Kafkan opening to Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World. The pared down langauge in a way contrasts with the complexity of what's going on. The tense seems a little confused in places; I'm not entirely sure whether or not this is intentional. There are also a few minor typos (imaginations -> imagination's etc.), but nothing that can't be fixed with a proofread. But yeah, really nice. You were joking earlier about my love of dreamlike writing, but I think this piece comes under that category. :wink: Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Roostophe Posted February 8, 2008 Share Posted February 8, 2008 Surreal, and very spooky indeed. That is some good work...er...yeah, it's good. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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