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Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Standing in the Light Field.

A man dressed in a simple suit stands silent on the stage. The spotlight unfettered by his scowl, continues its relentless assault of warm rays onto his beaten face. His brow, which had furrowed in much distress, has finally smoothed with a resignation to a fate he did not choose.

He sighs.

The red curtain flutters behind him, sending ripples of waves across a sea of velvet giving hint to the violence not half a step behind.

His eyes look up, and all they see is black. The occasional whisper and cough betrays the invisible ghosts which saunter in and out of his existence. There is no rest, there is no peace. These ghosts will haunt, they will poke and they will prod. These ghosts leave him sober and sad. They will try and make him forget.

He walks to the mic and taps on its glittery mesh. A hush settles over the empty chairs, and a voice croaks its finality through the still mist.

I am the sand. I am the stone. I am the bird that falls. I am the silence that is echoing. I see the dodos begging me to keep them comfortable, so I only do what I can.

I close my eyes.
I close my eyes.

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