Post by theboyinadress on May 4, 2015 11:22:50 GMT -6
I can see the tiny pinprick of light above me and that alone, brings back the
long-forgotten feeling of hope. My dirt-streaked cheeks are wet with tears
and the lucent cranny high in the blackness dances in the prism of my
lachryma, the fallout of hope I presume.
They had said it couldn't be done. They had commented that the symbolism
was too gauche, too maladroit.
I can see in my mind's eye the big one at the back shaking his large-chained
head at me with eyes that hinted at failed experiences and sagacious doubts.
'It will not be allowed' -was one of the many warnings, 'They will shun you' was
another.
They said I would be hunted because of how I look and be slain in the name of
a fairytale. They said many-many things.
I can feel coldness and that is a good sign, the concept of temperature was
another thing that had been forgotten. The idea that this reality would touch me
on a physical level was in a way, comforting, it means that I am in the 'real'
But the light is so far away, so far above me and I'm very tired. This body needs
to rest and I need to collate, to evaluate and to consider.
You see it's been so long since I've been top-side... to the surface, to be among
you. These subterranean bowels have been my home for an eternity and the
twilight has been my friend for all that time.
Yet, the truth is that I am not underground or staring upwards from the gloom
at an escape from the bottom of an abyss, this is a mere metaphor, a play on
an ancient belief, a trope.
I am living a lie -so to speak.
Oh I wish I could rest some more, but I must climb.
This substance that oozes between my fingers and concedes to my fingernails,
it makes me reveal a rare emotion.
I smile.
It was written that man was created from such stuff, moulded and fashioned into
a being that resembled Him. The black stinking slime that holds bones, graves
and rot -is the flesh of humanity, the thew of the simulacrum.
Oh, He must be proud.
The remains of matted material brush my shoulders as I ascend and the decaying
substance is harsh on my skin, another strange feeling. The scaling of these narrow
walls stresses my muscles and pangs this delicate vellum.
Blood seeps from it's rends and I know by the sight of the scarlet liquid that I am
becoming real, becoming unfeigned.
The raillery of rising isn't lost on me and I stretch my mouth again in mirth.
The circle of light is larger.
Did I tell you that I was never actually told that I was wrong...? Did I tell you that?
I know that your books portray me as a monster of flame and rend, a fiend to be
feared and cursed. Hooded figures with ornate baubles warn of my trickery and
counsel you on how to protect yourself with hand-gestures and muttered
benediction.
Stories of beguilement and yarns of promised-material wealth, relate to the reader
that I deal with nothing more than trinkets for the custody of man's soul.
I am allegedly a trader... a dark trafficker in a bazaar and I wait on the edge of your
doubts.
Hooey for the ignorant!
Yet, your time has a way of changing the preposterous legends you feverishly
wrote and now, it's deemed I am 'sexy' I am 'spicy'! The young find my existence
provocative and the humourous renderings of my form appeal to the minor who
alligns me with his pubescent urges.
How droll, I'd wager!
Not far now.
My eyes ache with the brilliance as I approach the entrance of the shaft, but I will
not be deterred.
I am so very tired.
I will assume at this point that you will expect me to walk among you with pacts
and accords...? to whisper words of promise and strong warranty? I'll guess that I
will be expected to sport fine attire and have females draped from each arm?
The shallowness of your view of me is saddening and yet, I forgive you.
The hooded-ones caused this.
But on my emergence, I will show you the truth.
**********
"Heh fella..." the old toothless man with the shovel shouted "...Yer' trespassin' on
preevate property" It was nearly noon and Jake was just about to knock off for his
dinner.
Then pulling the wire-spectacles from his dungaree pocket and jamming them on
his face, he took stock in the sight before him. It was the third time this week.
There was no rousing music and no long-winded monologue, Jake merely hit the
intruder with the shovel and knocked him back down the pit. "Gertcha" was the
only colloquy.
He had been here since time had began and Jake had accepted the appointment
without any wavering. It was a task that was important and the meals were free.
"It's a helluva thing when a man can't have his bait in peace..." Jake chuntered
as he gazed down into the blackness of the pit. "...Yep, a hellava thing"
long-forgotten feeling of hope. My dirt-streaked cheeks are wet with tears
and the lucent cranny high in the blackness dances in the prism of my
lachryma, the fallout of hope I presume.
They had said it couldn't be done. They had commented that the symbolism
was too gauche, too maladroit.
I can see in my mind's eye the big one at the back shaking his large-chained
head at me with eyes that hinted at failed experiences and sagacious doubts.
'It will not be allowed' -was one of the many warnings, 'They will shun you' was
another.
They said I would be hunted because of how I look and be slain in the name of
a fairytale. They said many-many things.
I can feel coldness and that is a good sign, the concept of temperature was
another thing that had been forgotten. The idea that this reality would touch me
on a physical level was in a way, comforting, it means that I am in the 'real'
But the light is so far away, so far above me and I'm very tired. This body needs
to rest and I need to collate, to evaluate and to consider.
You see it's been so long since I've been top-side... to the surface, to be among
you. These subterranean bowels have been my home for an eternity and the
twilight has been my friend for all that time.
Yet, the truth is that I am not underground or staring upwards from the gloom
at an escape from the bottom of an abyss, this is a mere metaphor, a play on
an ancient belief, a trope.
I am living a lie -so to speak.
Oh I wish I could rest some more, but I must climb.
This substance that oozes between my fingers and concedes to my fingernails,
it makes me reveal a rare emotion.
I smile.
It was written that man was created from such stuff, moulded and fashioned into
a being that resembled Him. The black stinking slime that holds bones, graves
and rot -is the flesh of humanity, the thew of the simulacrum.
Oh, He must be proud.
The remains of matted material brush my shoulders as I ascend and the decaying
substance is harsh on my skin, another strange feeling. The scaling of these narrow
walls stresses my muscles and pangs this delicate vellum.
Blood seeps from it's rends and I know by the sight of the scarlet liquid that I am
becoming real, becoming unfeigned.
The raillery of rising isn't lost on me and I stretch my mouth again in mirth.
The circle of light is larger.
Did I tell you that I was never actually told that I was wrong...? Did I tell you that?
I know that your books portray me as a monster of flame and rend, a fiend to be
feared and cursed. Hooded figures with ornate baubles warn of my trickery and
counsel you on how to protect yourself with hand-gestures and muttered
benediction.
Stories of beguilement and yarns of promised-material wealth, relate to the reader
that I deal with nothing more than trinkets for the custody of man's soul.
I am allegedly a trader... a dark trafficker in a bazaar and I wait on the edge of your
doubts.
Hooey for the ignorant!
Yet, your time has a way of changing the preposterous legends you feverishly
wrote and now, it's deemed I am 'sexy' I am 'spicy'! The young find my existence
provocative and the humourous renderings of my form appeal to the minor who
alligns me with his pubescent urges.
How droll, I'd wager!
Not far now.
My eyes ache with the brilliance as I approach the entrance of the shaft, but I will
not be deterred.
I am so very tired.
I will assume at this point that you will expect me to walk among you with pacts
and accords...? to whisper words of promise and strong warranty? I'll guess that I
will be expected to sport fine attire and have females draped from each arm?
The shallowness of your view of me is saddening and yet, I forgive you.
The hooded-ones caused this.
But on my emergence, I will show you the truth.
**********
"Heh fella..." the old toothless man with the shovel shouted "...Yer' trespassin' on
preevate property" It was nearly noon and Jake was just about to knock off for his
dinner.
Then pulling the wire-spectacles from his dungaree pocket and jamming them on
his face, he took stock in the sight before him. It was the third time this week.
There was no rousing music and no long-winded monologue, Jake merely hit the
intruder with the shovel and knocked him back down the pit. "Gertcha" was the
only colloquy.
He had been here since time had began and Jake had accepted the appointment
without any wavering. It was a task that was important and the meals were free.
"It's a helluva thing when a man can't have his bait in peace..." Jake chuntered
as he gazed down into the blackness of the pit. "...Yep, a hellava thing"
, Another Nail Biting Story,,,, Just Fantastic, Thank You BIAD,,,, Really! 
