POETRY & SHORT STORIES - "SUITE POEM (A)" & "Macabre Boy" + "Girl's Grim"
(Works are currently unedited)
SUITE POEM (A): ANATHEMA TO UNDERSTANDING
OVERTURE:
MOVEMENT ONE:
MOVEMENT TWO:
MOVEMENT THREE:
MOVEMENT FOUR:
SHORT STORIES: MACABRE BOY + GIRL'S GRIM
Macabre Boy
A forest in a place of no significant renown, a boreal pastoral. It is the end of twilight.
The moon is rising on another cold winter’s day like any other. The wind makes its usual rounds through the leaves and needles of an evergreen forest. Snow, having collected on the treetops, is disturbed from its perch of tree branches, falling through the frigid air of the understory onto the forest floor below. A particular clump of snow falls on the roof of a small automobile. Its lights shine a path through the twilight as it fades into a starlit dusk. The forest is filled with many figures and shapes that seem to flee from the bright lights of a motorised vehicle. The automobile trundles along… though maybe not quite a trundle - perhaps more of a cruise… yes, a cruise I would say - at a moderate pace just effective enough to cover an acceptable amount of distance more than walking.
The moonlight filtering in from the canopy is rather poor at effectively lighting the obscured space beneath it, just highlighting the uppermost growth & the roof and edges of the mobile machine. Soon visibility becomes gradually clearer as the small automobile nears the brink of the forest until at last it breaches past its edge. It enters into a barren yet idyllic field of snow. Moonlight gracefully reflects off its slick and powdery surface, the vast mountains providing a backdrop to frame the entire vista. The juxtaposition of the field’s seemingly boundless flat surface against the vast scale & elevation of the distant peaks casts the mountains in the illusion of appearing impossibly far away.
The automobile’s trek across the plane brings it steadily closer to a picturesque & charming little shack, shack in a diminutive sense that is. The place is really quite modern, modified from the remains of an old home and sold for quite a reasonable price befitting a place so isolated. Indeed, the driver and owner of this aged machine, and now this snowbound home, is a self-sufficient young boy who has always been followed by solitude. He seeks a refuge from a pain inflicted upon him by family and acquaintance alike. As he nears closer and closer to his new sanctuary, from the brink of the woods now past him, a shadowy form lurks from behind the trunk of a tree. This figure peers at the intrusive presence of the lights and sounds of the automobile. A thought is conceived, though I cannot say from whom. “It will be the same… It is always … the same”. The shadow, peering for a moment longer, leisurely withdraws back into the woods.
The automobile arrives and parks under a rudimentary but functional carport. The boy disembarks with bags in hand, then hurries not to waste a moment retrieving his luggage from the trunk. Impressively, he manages to simultaneously carry everything he packed as he discovers the front door. He takes a moment to step back and survey the particularities of his own corner of the world… not lingering on this sentiment for too long however as he begins to feel the pressure from the weight of all of his luggage at once as if it were pulling him down into the Earth itself. With an image of expert balance in mind, he uses his leg to bump the door open and hurries inside. The boy departs the polar exterior into the polar opposite. The interior is a cradle of warmth, pre-furnished with all the adornments and trimmings of a cozy home. In fact, none of the furnishings give the impression of ever having been apart from this setting, that is, as if they are as old as the establishment itself and far too comfortable in their current arrangements. I suppose the furniture is just as much a tenant of its lodgings as their living occupants.
The boy does not pay any mind to such seemingly insignificant details, after all, as the new master of the house he can move the furnishings around as he so pleases if he so wished. He eases himself of his haul, neatly gathering it all into the centre of the parlor, and it's not long before he’s unpacked every suitcase, bag, and container. Paraphernalia scattered around this home, in his own method & pleasing way, completes his sense of satisfaction. A used but still dependable sofa awaits to grant the master of the house the rest he has long wished for in the places beyond this brumal shelter. His rest is soundless and his dreams sweet. He has accepted this continuation of his isolation, though compelled upon him, into a seclusion on his own terms. So he continues to dream and dream deep through the night.
The next morning. In a place of no significant renown, a congenial haven. It is the end of twilight. The moon is setting on another cold winter’s day, like any other. To begin what he hopes to become his usual rounds, the boy decides to lead in his new routine by making a journey to the entryway of his new home, opening the door, and greeting the blush of dawn.
He makes his journey to the entryway of his new home, opens the door, and greets a disaster. Almost every conceivable surface is marred by ghastly scratches, outside furnishings are crushed and shattered, and his dear automobile displays an illegible message left in violent gashes along its surface. The atmosphere itself is saturated in the scent of fear and dread. The boy looks at this happening with an apparent concern, but his mind turns to a prevailing curiosity. Tidying up the best he can, he hopes that perhaps tomorrow’s iteration of his new routine can afford a more restful dawn.
The moon rises & sets on one cold winter’s day after another. The boy’s attempts to realise his ideal routine have yet to yield success. The routine he has been afforded is looking forward each day and night to whatever calamity has been concocted by the mysterious figure stalking him from the numbing chill. Though despite all of the apparent strife, he calmly ponders - as he always has…
“This… this is a silent space, where no sound… is to be found.
Oh - this… this is a quiet place. An angel… in snow.
It's the same again & again, you came to visit my sanctuary.
This was a silent space until your company - and now I’m not alone.”
“If I could tell you, I would have told you last night - after you slashed my tires.
Oh darling, you light my house on fire. Oh, dear you lit my house on fire.”
“I made a mosaic from the broken bits & chips of ceramic from when you
broke my flower pots & dismissed in a fit. It’s a picture of me & you in a
kibitz in coordinated outfits. Two misfits sharing tidbits though I hate to admit
I had to omit your eyes, I was wondering if they might be the same colour as the sky.
I placed a bed under the set for when you emerge from the T.V.
& placed snacks around the house for when that swarm of things you become gets hungry.
I put convenient lights at the exits of all my faucets and drain pipes
& accidentally hurt myself “while doing it, which got me wondering
what’s your favorite blood type?”
“I dressed up all my figurines in their very best for when they’re possessed
& left a journal of my most exciting dreams for you to read next to my bed on the desk.
I’ll even help you groom if it's not too soon - & I’ve been keeping tabs on the full moon.”
“Oh! You could become my greatest fear, but my greatest fear is being loved…"
“I can’t wait to see you the next time we meet. I won't mind, even if you have more than
two eyes, or arms, or rows of teeth - & I said a prayer for you before I went to bed.
And thanks to Father for this stranger, and this chance for an only friend…”
The boy, having said all he wanted to say, returns all of his attention to the task of thoroughly scrubbing a vibrant matter stuck to his front door. He isn’t quite sure what it is, but he saw it do something strange to a bug earlier so a long brush and plenty of layers of disposable clothing are currently between him and it. From far away at the brink of the woods a shadowy form lurks behind the trunk of a tree, looking at the boy with an expression of malice that dims to vexation… and then fades to a soft puzzled expression. The shadow, peering for a moment longer, disquietingly withdraws back into the woods. The wind makes its usual rounds. Snow is disturbed from its perch of tree branches and falls on a head of long black hair. The boy thinks he hears a cry of frustration from the distance but kindly dismisses it.
Girl's Grim
In the deep of the wood, a wintry nocturne. A shadow gloomily sits on the felled trunk of a tree, gazing into the rare occurrence of a middlingly small pool of water in the midst of this glacial region. Small points of floating light reflect off of the pool and ice suspended from the canopy.
In this secluded hollow bubble, where day and night have lost consequence, this is the only light that can softly fill this darkness. These small gleams gently highlight the long black hair that gives the wight the semblance of night, reflecting the obscured pale complexion underneath.
For a brief instance, the shade’s reflection eludes a rare, and honestly oversized puddle, but some simple concentration and a moment later a clear visage takes shape in the water. The keeper and owner of this form and all of its peculiarities is a self-sufficient young girl adorned in desolation and solitude. She glares at the likeness returning her expression but is unable to maintain an insincere ferocity. Feeling an overall sense of defeat and a bit overexerted from being unable to create a boy with a broken spirit, she pouts and sulks on her tree stump.
“What’s the matter with him? Why won’t he leave?”
“Am I out of practice? No! That shouldn’t even be an issue!”
“I’ve gotten so much more for doing even less and I’m trying so much harder than that!”
“What's the worst that I can do? Nothing that I’ve done so far apparently.”
She slouches over as far as to be a mere hair’s length from the water.
“Can it get any more stupid than this! What does he see in that old place anyway!”
A shade of remorse colours her countenance as she looks toward the old shelter.
“I didn’t mean old in that way… not in a bad way… but they keep coming… and changing it!”
A burgeoning, vicious darkness charges the eyes of this eidolon. She quickly stands to her feet! Boring death in the direction of that despicable housebreaker with a gaze that she wishes might cause him to suddenly and violently burst into a great, earth rupturing, sky shattering fire! Yes! So deathly a burst as to shatter him into billions upon trillions of miniscule fragments with -no not even- the possibility of the hope of repair! She begins a dash in his direction like a beast with the scent of prey. The arrogant puddle far too big for its own good suddenly freezes over upon her departure. All of the small & faint points of light suddenly return to her body & the flaring glow produced by their swift return illuminates the hollow of the fallen husks & trunks of the dozens of trees her claws severed from their stumps in the frustrations that preceded her gloom. Those ghastly slashing claws return to her hands with gruesome piercing teeth to rival their sharpness.
In this moment of spirited frenzy, the intensity of emotion avalanches in a flurry of thoughts more frightful than ever conceived before.
“It won’t be changed. You’ve come this far but I can go further!
You wouldn’t budge an inch when I tore apart your stupid plants
Or broke down your door in an eldritch form that you couldn’t understand!
Or were the shrieks of horror from the floorboards not a clue, or are you dim?
All it takes is a jab or a poke or a pinch, just one BITE to do you in!”
“Just ONE NIP to the NECK!
A QUICK SWIPE AT YOUR HEAD!
I wouldn’t even need to do it myself - I could just push you down the stairs!”
“A SCRATCH OVER HERE, over there, or ANYWHERE!
ANY ANGLE is free game and you’re sure to end up dea-
A single strike to any major organ would do! I could always swipe away your minor ones too!”
“Because…. it’s….
It's about time this pest ought learned its station!
Blend your soup with radiation!
Fill your car with diesel - or an abyssal drizzle - you. can’t. handle!”
“Because you’re invited to lethal upheaval, form primeval, style medieval!
Surrealism’s better sequel, void and chaos, cruel and fearful!”
“I’ll leave you somewhere special… by which I mean spatial…
Far away from any people… with not a hope of retrieval
As in a fraction of a moment… I’ll look into your eyes
Burn your fate into your soul… just when you realise.
Your tale was at an end… your conclusion was fatal.
My position is hunter… YOUR POSITION IS FETAL.”
“GRIM TAKES ON CHILDREN’S GAMES
HIDE AND SEEK, I RUN, YOU HIDE
BUT YOU LOST YOUR PLACE AND DIDN’T PLAY ALONG
SO NOW THE GAME’S, YOU RUN AND DI-
~“Hello.”
Her enraged stampede ceases, she stands completely still as if she had been suddenly paused in place. That boy stands only a twigs length from her. In his hand he holds a picnic bag and all around him a soft snow gently descends to the forest floor. She can only look at him, solidified in her aggressive position. She does not know what to think, what to say. She tries to move her hands with their mighty severing claws, and her mouth with its piercing arsenal of teeth… but she can’t. The boy stands, waiting patiently for what might happen next, curious as to let her be the next one to continue their interaction. Her eyes focus on him. Slowly she can feel her face growing flush and burning with conflicted frustration. She again tries to articulate her body in some meaningful way but only her mouth responds to the command.
“What… What is that?”
~“I brought this for you. Would you like to have my last meal with me? It’s everything that kept fresh.”
This answer serves only to kindle the warmth of frustration in her face.
“What is wrong with you… After everything… This is what you do?! What are you doing?! You - You don’t have a sense of self-preservation? I had thoughts of hurting you, doesn’t that mean anything in your head?!”
The boy is perplexed, & being unable to think of a response, awaits a question he can answer.
By now the girl has regained movement of her body. Tears of frustration trail down her face and freeze before they hit the frigid ground.
“What do you want?! Are you trying to be friends? There is nothing I want to do with you. Is this some kind of bribe? This won’t change anything. What more do I have to do before you’ll leave? Tell me something!”
The boy silently gathers his response and ponders for a moment. He smiles.
~”If you want me to leave. Then all you have to do is have a nice meal with me and wait a little while for my candle to burn out - and then you won’t have to worry about that anymore… and… I don’t need you to be friends with me, I just want you to not have to live in the cold anymore…”
She gradually begins to realise what he’s saying. A form of anguish and misery grows in the long-darkened places within her. She looks at him with a new awareness, though still upset.
“Get away from me. Leave me alone...”
No longer being able to bear the sight of him, she turns away. A familiar shadowed complexion returns to her. The boy, still wishing to carry through his kind intentions, reaches into his picnic bag and pulls out a smaller, similarly insulated and shaped picnic bag and places it behind her. With his portion of what remains of his provisions after these long and eventful days, he turns and quietly makes his way back to what was once to be his sanctuary. He has now accepted it as his place to rest.
In a place of no significant renown, a congenial haven. It is the end of twilight. The moon is setting on another cold winter’s day, like any other. A self-sufficient young boy who has always been followed by solitude gathers all of his homely necessities for what he hopes to be a wonderful meal. He sets the table, then the plates, the forks, the spoons, the chairs. He pours himself a nice glass and sits himself across from the radio. He intends to hear all of the music he is most fond of, maybe even hear a new song and wonder what it’s called for a while.
There’s a knock at the door that grabs his attention. He hurriedly goes and opens it. In the doorway is a long haired, ever gloomy looking girl with a small picnic basket… and a rather large, hunted deer to her side lying on the ground… He invites her in. She hands him the basket.
“Firstly; I don’t need to eat or drink, secondly; I am not subject to temperature, and thirdly; I need no sleep.”
He looks at her and smiles gently.
~“I understand, I can handle that for both of us.”
He turns to go set up another spot on the table.
“Hey…”
He turns to her.
“Are you happy?”
~ “... No… I don’t think so… but I think…”
“That’s Okay? ~That’s okay.”
They lightly smile for a moment. She walks in and the door closes.
-THE END
