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Marshalzu
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Lurking

0 posted 2004-05-31 05:55 PM


Chapter One

It was not that he had said anything per se; it was more of a fact that he had acted oddly, done his usual odd things and generally alienated himself from his peers. This situation was just another example of the lengths that he would go to, to feel alone in this world. Predictable was a word that he hated but it permeated every single action that he took, the almost perfectly rehearsed outbursts, the melancholic writing and the self-deprecation. The stage show was as predictable as a Hollywood blockbuster except it lacked the character, the colour and the excitement of life. This, all of this left him alone on the cold January night when all he had for company was the regular rhythm of the brilliant white alarm clock that decorated an otherwise bland, dull room.

The day’s dust was beginning to settle as he lay in bed, listening to the moans and groans of the central heating system as the pipes began to grow cold and freeze. He had spent the entire day trudging from place to place through waves of falling snow and growing mounds of icy cold slush. The clock tower across the square chimed twelve and he turned over, shielding his face from the glare of the moon’s rays that had forced a gap in the curtains.

A whistle blew somewhere deep under the tall black spires of the forest, an unearthly silence fell for miles around as nothing stirred, then the smoke belching engines of hidden machines sprang to life. Cogs began to turn and slowly his mind began to replay the day’s events, pondering his decisions, the “ifs” and “buts”, his victories and his defeats. Most of all his mind ran back to one incident in particular, a defeat in his mind but perhaps a shallow victory.

There was a girl, he called her a girl but to be truthful she was really a young woman. She was not truly beautiful, but graceful and delicate, the personification of elegance. Her blue eyes sparkled in the dim light of the gentle snowfall and her blonde hair glistened with slowly melting snow. She had the face of an angel and she glided past him and smiled. He almost stopped dead, but his legs carried him onwards and they slowly parted under the falling snow.

He lay there thinking of her, wondering what she was doing now at this moment, how she would look beside him, illuminated by the thin rays of moonlight. Her vision haunted him and though he fought it, she stayed with him as the night drained away. It was then that he realised that maybe he wasn’t all alone, there were people out there that cared about him, maybe some of them even loved them and that these people might not even be people whom he knew.

Chapter Two.

It was a shallow threat at best; at worst, it was weak, a quiet man trying to sound as though he had the balls to go through with something as bloody and as violent as standing up for himself. He had fired the opening shots of a skirmish that began to spin uncontrollably into a battle. Now he was surrounded by a group of incredibly intimidating youths. His choice words had not been chosen so well and a simple mistake had escalated out of all proportion. Now with the tables turned he had shrunken down, his bravado exposed for being just that and nothing more.

As with all wars once certain gears are set in motion it soon becomes impossible to stop the machinery, he soon found out that he had left tact and diplomacy too late and that the machinery of war ruled the negotiation table. Fortunately, for him, the price he had to pay was not very high at all, and he considered himself lucky to have escape with a bloody nose and wounded pride.

He wandered blindly as his tears stung his eyes, he rubbed them away and he found himself within the twilight of a sheltered square. The crisp white snow bore mark of his passing, bright red droplets left here and there. The concrete paving stones had risen up and stuck out at all sorts of precarious angles, forced up by the bulging roots of a defiant leafless tree, they lay in wait ready to trip up an unsuspecting passer-by. Root and soul had broken forth from their grey prison, reaching out into the dull winter light.

He walked towards it, its naked branches reaching out and welcoming him to come and sit a while and there he sat. It had been two weeks since he had seen her but still she haunted him. He hated her and loved her. She was all he wanted and all he could not have. She was more than a bloody nose.

Chapter Three.

The snow kept falling that winter, covering everything in a deep blanket of beautiful white powder. It reminded him of his youth where the snow had fallen like this every year, when his mother would build half an igloo against the side of their brick outhouse, or when his father would loan him a cap and a scarf for his snowman. Now the children laughed and played like he had done and hundreds of thousands of snowmen had been built, in his street alone there were ten one of which belonged to him. This of course was much to the amusement of his neighbours, who had already marked him as quite eccentric.

It was however not as satisfying as he had hoped, the years had left their mark on him and his innocence had long been lost but it was her, his angel that had spoiled it, she was still in his thoughts and now his thoughts guided his hands. His was a snowman that was a snow-girl and a poor imitation at that. He tried with all his might to create a likeness but his mind had distorted her image and she had become too beautiful and too perfect to sculpt and so he felt empty, resentful and useless.

The snow-girl sat there, through December slowly changing as the snow fell on her, distorting her features and slowly covering her until on Christmas Eve, she had been buried beneath the snow and had been lost.

Chapter Four.

Sometimes she liked to just wander; it did not matter whether it was the sound of buzzing traffic or the sounds of birds and bees. Today it was the sound of the wind howling through the dark concrete underpass that she was walking through, that she wandered to. The snow was whipped up by the wind and drifted into the entrance to the underpass, she pulled her scarf close around her neck as she left the underpass and climbed the steps into the snow filled courtyard. She passed a gnarled old tree that had grown too large for its concrete prison, it’s slender grey branches swaying in the wind.

The snow began to gently fall, large flakes gliding down to the ground where they formed a crisp new layer of pure white snow. She wandered through the darkening streets; delighting in the snowfall’s graceful downward spiral; bathing her face in the soft, wet flakes that drifted silently from the clouds. It was then that she saw him, he wandered past her, and she smiled at him and kept on walking hoping that she would see him again.

She came again to the snow filled courtyard, some of the snow had been scraped up and made into a snowman, and he was a sad looking thing, devoid of eyes and clothes. She took another look at him and decided that it was here job to put a smile on his face.

It was late when she returned to the courtyard; the snowman was bathed in the orange glow of the neon street lamp and the silvery glow of the moon. She gave the snowman two black coals for eyes, a large coat and a top hat to keep him warm. She laughed at herself standing there in the dark dressing the snowman and then walked silently away into the dark.

----
Pretty much still in a draft stage at the moment but I wanted to post something. Any comments welcome.



Hmm...

© Copyright 2004 Andrew Sewell - All Rights Reserved
LoveBug
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1 posted 2004-06-01 04:02 PM


Very interesting! I really like

"some of them even loved them and that these people might not even be people whom he knew"

An interesting look at what goes on behind the scenes, things that go on with people that we may not even know. Some may think that's creepy, but it's also lovely, in it's own way. I like it, and I like the storytelling style you use.

Oh, make me Thine forever
And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never ever
Outlive my love for Thee

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