Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment
I had to write this story in response to a picture I received.
In a gloomy
little room sat a strange man, on a fragile brown chair, old and creaky. A mild
breeze caressed his dreary face. His
gaze shifted to the yawning window, staring the zephyr straight in the face. In his hand he held a wooden pipe. A mysterious pipe of sorts, from which
peculiar images glided into the abyss of imagination. He was teased by the
temptation of youth, as his thoughts transpired into shapes of mystery. Shapes, which could be seen floating out the
bowl of the pipe.
The strange images were butterflies, instigated by the child within. Butterflies of overwrought thought. Would he ever see youth again? What lingers in the future of an immortal creature.
Sorrows infected his existence of which humanity was the prime. As his thoughts transformed to mankind’s origin, the mysterious floating shapes changed. They were now images of a crying baby. So young and innocent, yet born with a destructive nature. The images altered, they were now phantasmagorias of atrocious entities exposing the brutality of mankind. They ceased abruptly as the man choked. “So innocent”, he muttered in contemptuous fashion.
Anew he placed the pipe into his mouth, once more beautiful butterflies blew out of its bowl. The intense images he imagined intrigued him to such an extent that he was on the verge of insanity. Why could mankind be blessed blissfully by the approbation of being mortals? And he be doomed with the curse of immortality? “I would not waste it like common dogs!” he screamed, causing the butterflies to evaporate in flaming terror. The man’s thoughts trailed off into perpetual silence as he strove to alienate himself from the matter. Clumsily he stood up and staggered towards an obscure object hidden in the corner of the dimly lit room. The object appeared to be a dining room table. Laid on the table was a remarkable oil lamp, crafted out of pure gold with diamond dust dramatically imbedded in the resolute handle. Its glass had enchanting colours, twirling in cohesion with the small flare within. Engraved on side of the glass in silver was the word “IMMORTAL”. The man took hold of the handle and ambled toward his chamber, the groaning of the stairs could be heard vividly as he lethargically clambered upwards.
I watched patiently, waited upon sleep to ensconce him. “Who am I? I sense you contemplate”. I am the walls, the roof the floor; I am the one who endured generations amid the immortal man. Plentiful imparted, onward we go.
A dozen times the clock sounded, midnight. Squeak screech Squeak, crackled the panels in metronomic symmetry as a young lad slinked up the rickety staircases. His intent was to pinch the oil lamp the man had carried upstairs. He was sincerely absorbed by its beauty and splendour, which looked even more breath-taking in his command. Without warning a hefty hand slammed around his wrist. He struggled to tear it off, but it would not budge. “How vain of you, Youngling” the immortal bawled, “you come into my abode and bid to steal my exquisite gem whilst I lay fast asleep”. He fixed the boy with an unwavering glare. “What is your name, Boy?” he mumbled in a gentler voice. “P-P-Peter, Sir”, came the startled response. “Run now, young Peter; bring word of the wealthy man on the hilltop”. He released the young boy’s wrist and watched as he rushed with thrilling haste towards the nearby village.
Dawn broke over the lazy countryside, all was quiet and serene. Then fell the sound of a scream. “I am Don and I challenge you, so-called Immortal, to a dual ‘til death” roared a knight dressed in apparels of pitch black physiognomies. Gradually I experienced my door being unbolted and slowly floating ajar. The immortal stepped onto my decaying porch; his eyes were impassive as he strolled idly to encounter the knight. Out of the pipe in his mouth glided dreams. They were of a man, grey in years, his father. “You will not age, you will not sicken, you will live forever my son. Be warned however, by man you came to be immortal and by man you could perish”. The words he heard a thousand years ago echoed in his heart as he drew his sword.
The strange images were butterflies, instigated by the child within. Butterflies of overwrought thought. Would he ever see youth again? What lingers in the future of an immortal creature.
Sorrows infected his existence of which humanity was the prime. As his thoughts transformed to mankind’s origin, the mysterious floating shapes changed. They were now images of a crying baby. So young and innocent, yet born with a destructive nature. The images altered, they were now phantasmagorias of atrocious entities exposing the brutality of mankind. They ceased abruptly as the man choked. “So innocent”, he muttered in contemptuous fashion.
Anew he placed the pipe into his mouth, once more beautiful butterflies blew out of its bowl. The intense images he imagined intrigued him to such an extent that he was on the verge of insanity. Why could mankind be blessed blissfully by the approbation of being mortals? And he be doomed with the curse of immortality? “I would not waste it like common dogs!” he screamed, causing the butterflies to evaporate in flaming terror. The man’s thoughts trailed off into perpetual silence as he strove to alienate himself from the matter. Clumsily he stood up and staggered towards an obscure object hidden in the corner of the dimly lit room. The object appeared to be a dining room table. Laid on the table was a remarkable oil lamp, crafted out of pure gold with diamond dust dramatically imbedded in the resolute handle. Its glass had enchanting colours, twirling in cohesion with the small flare within. Engraved on side of the glass in silver was the word “IMMORTAL”. The man took hold of the handle and ambled toward his chamber, the groaning of the stairs could be heard vividly as he lethargically clambered upwards.
I watched patiently, waited upon sleep to ensconce him. “Who am I? I sense you contemplate”. I am the walls, the roof the floor; I am the one who endured generations amid the immortal man. Plentiful imparted, onward we go.
A dozen times the clock sounded, midnight. Squeak screech Squeak, crackled the panels in metronomic symmetry as a young lad slinked up the rickety staircases. His intent was to pinch the oil lamp the man had carried upstairs. He was sincerely absorbed by its beauty and splendour, which looked even more breath-taking in his command. Without warning a hefty hand slammed around his wrist. He struggled to tear it off, but it would not budge. “How vain of you, Youngling” the immortal bawled, “you come into my abode and bid to steal my exquisite gem whilst I lay fast asleep”. He fixed the boy with an unwavering glare. “What is your name, Boy?” he mumbled in a gentler voice. “P-P-Peter, Sir”, came the startled response. “Run now, young Peter; bring word of the wealthy man on the hilltop”. He released the young boy’s wrist and watched as he rushed with thrilling haste towards the nearby village.
Dawn broke over the lazy countryside, all was quiet and serene. Then fell the sound of a scream. “I am Don and I challenge you, so-called Immortal, to a dual ‘til death” roared a knight dressed in apparels of pitch black physiognomies. Gradually I experienced my door being unbolted and slowly floating ajar. The immortal stepped onto my decaying porch; his eyes were impassive as he strolled idly to encounter the knight. Out of the pipe in his mouth glided dreams. They were of a man, grey in years, his father. “You will not age, you will not sicken, you will live forever my son. Be warned however, by man you came to be immortal and by man you could perish”. The words he heard a thousand years ago echoed in his heart as he drew his sword.
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