Home
sign up| member's portfolio page |
 content by: member |
|
Hello everyone! I decided to write a bizarre, but serious story, based something that I said in the 'How Do You Think' thread. Now, I really don't class myself as an author, so please forgive anything that seems less than professional! I wanted to write how even a small, temporary glimpse of something good can make all the difference
 . Anyway be gentle!*********************************************************** He was sat, the owner, on a bench made of stone. There was nothing great here now. Once, a long time ago, this was a beautiful place. A city of white walls and climbing vines... Getting to his feet, he kicked a small piece of broken marble onto the road, where it lay among leaves and other debris. The sun was low in the sky, casting crisp shadows and bright streaks over the dilapidated ruins. What a tragedy that this glorious place should be lost forever. He tried to concentrate, the way he used to. The shattered pavement broke free and shot upwards into space, being replaced with a pristine polished granite surface; gleaming in the sun. But he relaxed too soon; the granite fractured, cracks snaked their way along the slabs and before long, they too were ruined. He sighed, defeated a long time ago. He remembered being able to create towers of white stone, clean cut and dominating, roman pillars lined up like soldiers across the front...courtyards and beautiful gardens...they would just rise out of the ground, in an instant. He remembered a time when he would walk these avenues and streets, a man in control. A confident man; a commander. The world would change to his will as he walked. He remembered the trees and rich green gardens, a powerful splash of colour on the pristine white of his surroundings. A passionate breeze once breathed life into the golden leaves of the autumn and cause crystal lakes to shimmer playfully. He remembered rising into the air, and spinning the world below him - a master of nature. The owner, so proud. There used to be a time when he could spend hours in the magnificent theatre, which was always a little different each time he visited, watching his memories played out for him and him alone. There was a time when he could lie in the soft grass lawns, indulging in a feeling, and savouring a moment. And there was the church, where he would go when he felt sorrowful and could mourn the things that were passing. But something changed, over the years. With each passing day, he had become weaker. He had begun to neglect his creation, letting the memory of it fade away, letting it crumble. He didn't care, or even watch, as his courthouse suddenly crushed in on itself, pillars splintering, the grand stone steps uprooting and breaking in the middle. *********************************************************** I awoke from my day dreaming. I *had* lost something. I suppose it was a part of growing up; that is, imagination gives way to other things, I guess. It disappears so that you can survive. Imagination isn't accepted. Philosophy and an analytical mind become personality flaws, not something to be proud of. Had I been hiding? Maybe. I hadn't realised it, but I had been hibernating. But the most amusing thing of all is that I wasn't the only one who had been doing this. In fact, nearly everyone I knew was doing it. I wasn't special, just one of the many, working to stamp out or control that creative spark. Why? Because a thinker has a hard life, and everyone knows it. All children are inquisitive, but the world teaches them numbers and dates. Are they missing the point? Yes, but I don't know what could be done instead. Anyway it's certainly not a new revelation. In a perfect world, people wouldn't have to adapt to their surroundings. But I smiled, thinking how all it takes is one spark, one glint of hope, to flick the switch on in your mind; at least long enough for you to realise it's still possible to do so. *********************************************************** The owner leaped into the air and hung there, arms outstretched. A gust of wind picked up fallen leaves, twisting them around his body before lifting them away. A cast of silver and charcoal storm clouds covered the sky. It is easier to destroy than create, he thought. He cast his arms in arcs, sweeping and carving scars into the terrain - tearing up walls and terraces, smashing holes into the empty homes and ripping up the ancient streets. He caused rain to hammer down, shining in the flashes of lightning. He took joy in toppling the crumbling pillars, forcing them into each other and watching as they fell like pathetic dominoes. The owner fired his hand through the grand theatre, and glimpsed it hanging in stunned, sorry shock before it spread debris across the scenery. It was a spectacular display, he thought to himself. The trees...he killed them all, pulling them up like carrots, snapping them and burning the roots with searing flame so that they could never grow again. The lakes were dried, and became arid in an instant. He destroyed the sun, detonating it in a tremendous explosion that filled the sky with an orange and red glow. The church collapsed and was swept away in a shock wave of sad renewal. He came back down to Earth. Dropping to his knees, he began to dig furiously at the earth, clearing it away until he stood on a firm white nothingness. Standing proudly, he took one last look at the devastated landscape. Shadows fell across his face, his eyebrows became set and his mouth formed a short grim line of determination. His eyes flared and a rush of colour dominated his mind. His head was flung backwards and he let out a scream, unlike any other. A booming, piercing sound of pure regeneration that echoed in space and time...then pushed away everything in the world. It all flew away from him, shifting existence to the core - the debris eventually vanishing as it reached the edge of perception. Then, there was nothing. An expanse of white emptiness, a place with no direction. A clear slate, a blank canvas. He only wanted one thing now. He held out his hand and created a circular pendant, depicting a man divided down the middle - half blue, half white. It was a man of perfect balance; serene, confident. It emanated calm in beautiful orange waves that effected everything around him, painting space. He held this pendant and felt a warmth creep over his body - and he was sat, the owner, on a floor made of nothing. [Go to the next story : A2215540]
 conversations
Read members' comments.
|
 |
see also
talk  collective is closing Thanks to everyone who has supported the site over the years. |
send to a friend
