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Something small and warm sits in the palm of my hand - fragile, delicate, and almost translucent in the twisting noonshine. Gold on white, red through pink. Beautiful. Burning.
A snap and crack overhead - a ream of silk flows out through the air and away. I grin and, as the faint, sweet scents of sweat and the red sinking smoke reach me here, I sigh. Simple happiness fills me up - he is here again, come to see me. The tedious weights of life lift a little, set me loose, let me fly as far as my mind can reach.
The city around me dulls out and cracks. I am alone - the tiny, light-shot object has gone from my hand, but it does not matter. He is here, everything is fine again. Through the shifted dust, the silk shines out - red to green, shimmering and pure, stretched down the street, darting around a corner: his rainbow cape, a swollen chord of perfection.
I catch the hint of a wink on the wind and I am running.
Lungs breathe deep, the air shocked into fresh bloom by his passing. With childlike ease, I am running, and I am laughing.
The silken cape stretches away from me into the city we share - I give chase and my smile grows as the distance closes. Where the ethereal material touches the buildings, the brickwork shines out fresh and new - shocking red against the living thread. Plants grow, flowers bloom ... in the shadow of the cape - somehow a shadow, though more light than shade - everything stretches further, breathes deeper and is eager to show off just how strongly they live.
I feel him now as I press on, faster than the silk can unravel before me. A tight knot in my stomach - something akin to nerves, but closer to love. And with every fevered step, the knot grows inside, until every fibre of me is twisted to a tangled heap of breath and speed and anticipation. For what he sees ... for what he makes ... for all that he is, before and after.
The city walls, streaked old and new as the cape twists sharper through switch-back alleys and cobbled one-way arcades, stutter to a staggered halt, and in their place great vines spring up and grip on, snaking furiously along the dull façades. In only a few seconds, the city is left behind, forgotten, and my feet find a softer sharp-cut tinder path beneath.
The forest holds no trees, just man-thick vines and stems streaking past and swelling still - spinning themselves tighter, tauter even than my tangled whole. The darkest green fills my vision - deeper, blacker than my eyes have ever held - but his cape remains an anchor in the void. Over-brassed blue running with lightning-lidded lilac, looped back and into the cliché-cut crimson he so loves. And, again, every tendril it touches bursts open into eye-scolding lime, explodes with transcendent rainbow flowers and strains out ahead, to where he waits.
The path - now walled hard by thorn-ripped green, and roofed in snapping threads of gold and bronze - turns and straightens to a runway. Ahead, the vines fall away and back around again- a clearing in the void, criss-crossed with shallow, silent streams. In the centre, a figure, the silken cape taut to his square shoulders. My heart sighs with me and I slow, my breath easy and level, the touched air rich and strong in my lungs.
He shrugs, and the cape drops, coaxing fresh, vibrant life from the earth where it falls. He takes a few steps forward, further into the clearing, and looks around - all the while, his back to me, his hat dipping down to the thin, entwined streams and up to the grey vine-clawed sky racing away overhead.
Then he turns to me, and claps three, long, slow, claps. At the sound, the stems and vines pulse a brighter shade of green, the water gleams a more dazzling diamond-shine, and my body uncoils itself - gently, slowly, I relax. He is here. Everything is perfect.
He smiles at the rise to his grace.
But it seems more out of amusement than happiness ... and I think I catch the start of an echo. His applause sounds dead, hollow and biting.
“Well done ...” He starts, and the echo is lost. I blink away the feeling and grin deeper still. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”
He bring one hand up and takes a deep, silent drag of the smouldering cheroot gripped between first and second fingers. Thick red smoke falls to the floor in lazy, languid loops and whirls - where it settles, the grass seems to shrink back slightly, the earth dull out to grey.
I never noticed that before.
“Missing something?” He asks, the whites of his eyes fresh on my hand. I lift it and inspect both sides ... nothing unusual.
I shake my head and step forward. A thousand thoughts and feelings rush through me with every second, but my mouth is dry, unwilling to talk. My body knows, somewhere, that any input from me would only lessen things. Take away from the beauty he brings.
He laughs - fuller now, louder.
Again the echo comes back and chimes a hard, brittle chord within me.
Again he speaks before I can catch the feeling ...
“You shouldn’t put yourself down so much.”
Red smoke marks out a dark circle on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, quietly, to make as little disturbance as possible.
“I don’t know. What do you think’s going on?”
I dare not answer.
“Come on ... what’s going on? Where are we?”
In ... in, well. It doesn’t matter. It never has.
“I know at least one person who would disagree with you there. Perhaps you should wonder some time ... wonder if it’s ever possible to be in two places at once? I don’t think so.”
“Why ... why are you ...?” I can’t form the question. The streams all around grow dirty, and shallower still. His perfect silk cape a black, empty swath on the floor.
“The question ...” He said, tugging his hat down tight over his eyes. “Is not ‘why am I...’ - it’s ‘why are you...’ “
I don’t understand.
“No, you never really did. You see ... when things start to go wrong, you need to make a decision. Your body ... your mind ... those who love you ... they all need you to make a decision. And right now, your subconscious is tipping the scales firmly in one direction. It’s had enough.”
He stood, a shadow, a cruel and cold silhouette in the centre of the darkening glade and took drag like pull upon his tight-rolled cheroot ... letting blood smoke fall and wither up the grass.
“What’s going on!?” I shout now, the sacred silence having shattered itself into razor-sharp fragments. A full laugh ... and I need no echo to trace the pain in his voice. He understands everything ... yet tells me nothing.
“You tell me.” He said, simply. “You tell me! Look around ... look at me ... what the ƒuck do you think is going on? Look at yourself and tell me what is going on.”
“But you-”
“-No! Not me - you. Your mind’s been screwing around too long, and now you’ve got to do something about it before it’s too late. This has nothing to do with me - I am nothing, I am you. You are in control, just too timid to realise it.” He flicked one hand around the shrivelled clearing. “Who made this?”
“You did.” I nodded. I knew this much, at least. He made everything ... he was my strength, my inspiration.
The sigh, the gentle shake of the head tells me I am wrong. Everything is wrong.
“You.” He said. “You did. I am nothing. I am you.”
My hands are shaking. They feel empty.
I close my eyes, and want to get away. My body is a knot again. Anger.
“Leave me alone.”
“Your decision.” He shrugs, sending ash to the floor. The dead grass rips up into blood flame, the empty stream-beds crack and collapse in.
“Go away.”
“But ... you know ... I think you’ll be back. It’s all too big to just leave behi-”
“Fuçk off!”
And he is gone.
I stand in the middle of a crowded city street, greeted by the amused, mocking, wary stares of passing strangers and my echoed words bouncing back to me from the clean, clear-cut lines of the buildings rising up all around.
“Dad ... dad ...”
Something tiny, something warm slips into my trembling hand. Beautiful.
“It’s okay ... it’s okay.”
And there are a pair of calm, sure eyes upon me. She smiles, her skin shot through by the harsh, false, afternoon sun. I squeeze her hand in mine and smile back slowly, unsure of exactly who she is, but happy for the link between us.
A snap and crack overhead - a ream of silk flows out through the air and away. I grin and, as the faint, sweet scents of sweat and the red sinking smoke reach me here, I sigh. Simple happiness fills me up - he is here again, come to see me. The tedious weights of life lift a little, set me loose, let me fly as far as my mind can reach.
The city around me dulls out and cracks. I am alone - the tiny, light-shot object has gone from my hand, but it does not matter. He is here, everything is fine again. Through the shifted dust, the silk shines out - red to green, shimmering and pure, stretched down the street, darting around a corner: his rainbow cape, a swollen chord of perfection.
I catch the hint of a wink on the wind and I am running.
Lungs breathe deep, the air shocked into fresh bloom by his passing. With childlike ease, I am running, and I am laughing.
The silken cape stretches away from me into the city we share - I give chase and my smile grows as the distance closes. Where the ethereal material touches the buildings, the brickwork shines out fresh and new - shocking red against the living thread. Plants grow, flowers bloom ... in the shadow of the cape - somehow a shadow, though more light than shade - everything stretches further, breathes deeper and is eager to show off just how strongly they live.
I feel him now as I press on, faster than the silk can unravel before me. A tight knot in my stomach - something akin to nerves, but closer to love. And with every fevered step, the knot grows inside, until every fibre of me is twisted to a tangled heap of breath and speed and anticipation. For what he sees ... for what he makes ... for all that he is, before and after.
The city walls, streaked old and new as the cape twists sharper through switch-back alleys and cobbled one-way arcades, stutter to a staggered halt, and in their place great vines spring up and grip on, snaking furiously along the dull façades. In only a few seconds, the city is left behind, forgotten, and my feet find a softer sharp-cut tinder path beneath.
The forest holds no trees, just man-thick vines and stems streaking past and swelling still - spinning themselves tighter, tauter even than my tangled whole. The darkest green fills my vision - deeper, blacker than my eyes have ever held - but his cape remains an anchor in the void. Over-brassed blue running with lightning-lidded lilac, looped back and into the cliché-cut crimson he so loves. And, again, every tendril it touches bursts open into eye-scolding lime, explodes with transcendent rainbow flowers and strains out ahead, to where he waits.
The path - now walled hard by thorn-ripped green, and roofed in snapping threads of gold and bronze - turns and straightens to a runway. Ahead, the vines fall away and back around again- a clearing in the void, criss-crossed with shallow, silent streams. In the centre, a figure, the silken cape taut to his square shoulders. My heart sighs with me and I slow, my breath easy and level, the touched air rich and strong in my lungs.
He shrugs, and the cape drops, coaxing fresh, vibrant life from the earth where it falls. He takes a few steps forward, further into the clearing, and looks around - all the while, his back to me, his hat dipping down to the thin, entwined streams and up to the grey vine-clawed sky racing away overhead.
Then he turns to me, and claps three, long, slow, claps. At the sound, the stems and vines pulse a brighter shade of green, the water gleams a more dazzling diamond-shine, and my body uncoils itself - gently, slowly, I relax. He is here. Everything is perfect.
He smiles at the rise to his grace.
But it seems more out of amusement than happiness ... and I think I catch the start of an echo. His applause sounds dead, hollow and biting.
“Well done ...” He starts, and the echo is lost. I blink away the feeling and grin deeper still. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”
He bring one hand up and takes a deep, silent drag of the smouldering cheroot gripped between first and second fingers. Thick red smoke falls to the floor in lazy, languid loops and whirls - where it settles, the grass seems to shrink back slightly, the earth dull out to grey.
I never noticed that before.
“Missing something?” He asks, the whites of his eyes fresh on my hand. I lift it and inspect both sides ... nothing unusual.
I shake my head and step forward. A thousand thoughts and feelings rush through me with every second, but my mouth is dry, unwilling to talk. My body knows, somewhere, that any input from me would only lessen things. Take away from the beauty he brings.
He laughs - fuller now, louder.
Again the echo comes back and chimes a hard, brittle chord within me.
Again he speaks before I can catch the feeling ...
“You shouldn’t put yourself down so much.”
Red smoke marks out a dark circle on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, quietly, to make as little disturbance as possible.
“I don’t know. What do you think’s going on?”
I dare not answer.
“Come on ... what’s going on? Where are we?”
In ... in, well. It doesn’t matter. It never has.
“I know at least one person who would disagree with you there. Perhaps you should wonder some time ... wonder if it’s ever possible to be in two places at once? I don’t think so.”
“Why ... why are you ...?” I can’t form the question. The streams all around grow dirty, and shallower still. His perfect silk cape a black, empty swath on the floor.
“The question ...” He said, tugging his hat down tight over his eyes. “Is not ‘why am I...’ - it’s ‘why are you...’ “
I don’t understand.
“No, you never really did. You see ... when things start to go wrong, you need to make a decision. Your body ... your mind ... those who love you ... they all need you to make a decision. And right now, your subconscious is tipping the scales firmly in one direction. It’s had enough.”
He stood, a shadow, a cruel and cold silhouette in the centre of the darkening glade and took drag like pull upon his tight-rolled cheroot ... letting blood smoke fall and wither up the grass.
“What’s going on!?” I shout now, the sacred silence having shattered itself into razor-sharp fragments. A full laugh ... and I need no echo to trace the pain in his voice. He understands everything ... yet tells me nothing.
“You tell me.” He said, simply. “You tell me! Look around ... look at me ... what the ƒuck do you think is going on? Look at yourself and tell me what is going on.”
“But you-”
“-No! Not me - you. Your mind’s been screwing around too long, and now you’ve got to do something about it before it’s too late. This has nothing to do with me - I am nothing, I am you. You are in control, just too timid to realise it.” He flicked one hand around the shrivelled clearing. “Who made this?”
“You did.” I nodded. I knew this much, at least. He made everything ... he was my strength, my inspiration.
The sigh, the gentle shake of the head tells me I am wrong. Everything is wrong.
“You.” He said. “You did. I am nothing. I am you.”
My hands are shaking. They feel empty.
I close my eyes, and want to get away. My body is a knot again. Anger.
“Leave me alone.”
“Your decision.” He shrugs, sending ash to the floor. The dead grass rips up into blood flame, the empty stream-beds crack and collapse in.
“Go away.”
“But ... you know ... I think you’ll be back. It’s all too big to just leave behi-”
“Fuçk off!”
And he is gone.
I stand in the middle of a crowded city street, greeted by the amused, mocking, wary stares of passing strangers and my echoed words bouncing back to me from the clean, clear-cut lines of the buildings rising up all around.
“Dad ... dad ...”
Something tiny, something warm slips into my trembling hand. Beautiful.
“It’s okay ... it’s okay.”
And there are a pair of calm, sure eyes upon me. She smiles, her skin shot through by the harsh, false, afternoon sun. I squeeze her hand in mine and smile back slowly, unsure of exactly who she is, but happy for the link between us.
*shameless pop*
+ cheers to Sleepy. Told you you'd like it.
+ cheers to Sleepy. Told you you'd like it.
Beautifully described. I love the way the silk changed colour, the way that everything was originally brightened and then darkened and died when questioned with anger. The ending was delightful as well :)
Hoorah.
Thankee both ... glad it worked - one of those ones you just stream out in one go and it's pretty much finished as it is.
As they say, if you can't think of anything, write about that.
I don't know who they are, or if they ever actually said that, but meh.
And this guy is always there, friend and enemy.
Thankee both ... glad it worked - one of those ones you just stream out in one go and it's pretty much finished as it is.
As they say, if you can't think of anything, write about that.
I don't know who they are, or if they ever actually said that, but meh.
And this guy is always there, friend and enemy.
Ooh, there's some great stuff in here, I loved:
"I catch the hint of a wink on the wind"
I thought the dialogue works well, and eases the details out without being too obvious - the internal conflict becomes more apparent. To start it with;
"“I like what you’ve done to the place.” certainly had me wondering.
Nicely paced and beautfully written. Once I got to the end I looked over it again, picking good bits out, and I like it when I story makes me want to do that.
"I catch the hint of a wink on the wind"
I thought the dialogue works well, and eases the details out without being too obvious - the internal conflict becomes more apparent. To start it with;
"“I like what you’ve done to the place.” certainly had me wondering.
Nicely paced and beautfully written. Once I got to the end I looked over it again, picking good bits out, and I like it when I story makes me want to do that.
So, tell me what drugs did you say you were on?
A bewildering, yet beautiful read...
A bewildering, yet beautiful read...
ahem
Something small and warm sits in the palm of my hand - fragile, delicate, and almost translucent in the twisting noonshine. Gold on white, red through pink. Beautiful. Burning.
A snap and crack overhead - a ream of silk flows out through the air and away. I grin and, as the faint, sweet scents of sweat and the red sinking smoke reach me here, I sigh. Simple happiness fills me up - he is here again, come to see me. The tedious weights of life lift a little, set me loose, let me fly as far as my mind can reach.
The city around me dulls out and cracks. I am alone - the tiny, light-shot object has gone from my hand, but it does not matter. He is here, everything is fine again. Through the shifted dust, the silk shines out - red to green, shimmering and pure, stretched down the street, darting around a corner: his rainbow cape, a swollen chord of perfection.
I catch the hint of a wink on the wind and I am running.
Lungs breathe deep, the air shocked into fresh bloom by his passing. With childlike ease, I am running, and I am laughing.
The silken cape stretches away from me into the city we share - I give chase and my smile grows as the distance closes. Where the ethereal material touches the buildings, the brickwork shines out fresh and new - shocking red against the living thread. Plants grow, flowers bloom ... in the shadow of the cape - somehow a shadow, though more light than shade - everything stretches further, breathes deeper and is eager to show off just how strongly they live.
I feel him now as I press on, faster than the silk can unravel before me. A tight knot in my stomach - something akin to nerves, but closer to love. And with every fevered step, the knot grows inside, until every fibre of me is twisted to a tangled heap of breath and speed and anticipation. For what he sees ... for what he makes ... for all that he is, before and after.
The city walls, streaked old and new as the cape twists sharper through switch-back alleys and cobbled one-way arcades, stutter to a staggered halt, and in their place great vines spring up and grip on, snaking furiously along the dull façades. In only a few seconds, the city is left behind, forgotten, and my feet find a softer sharp-cut tinder path beneath.
The forest holds no trees, just man-thick vines and stems streaking past and swelling still - spinning themselves tighter, tauter even than my tangled whole. The darkest green fills my vision - deeper, blacker than my eyes have ever held - but his cape remains an anchor in the void. Over-brassed blue running with lightning-lidded lilac, looped back and into the cliché-cut crimson he so loves. And, again, every tendril it touches bursts open into eye-scolding lime, explodes with transcendent rainbow flowers and strains out ahead, to where he waits.
The path - now walled hard by thorn-ripped green, and roofed in snapping threads of gold and bronze - turns and straightens to a runway. Ahead, the vines fall away and back around again- a clearing in the void, criss-crossed with shallow, silent streams. In the centre, a figure, the silken cape taut to his square shoulders. My heart sighs with me and I slow, my breath easy and level, the touched air rich and strong in my lungs.
He shrugs, and the cape drops, coaxing fresh, vibrant life from the earth where it falls. He takes a few steps forward, further into the clearing, and looks around - all the while, his back to me, his hat dipping down to the thin, entwined streams and up to the grey vine-clawed sky racing away overhead.
Then he turns to me, and claps three, long, slow, claps. At the sound, the stems and vines pulse a brighter shade of green, the water gleams a more dazzling diamond-shine, and my body uncoils itself - gently, slowly, I relax. He is here. Everything is perfect.
He smiles at the rise to his grace.
But it seems more out of amusement than happiness ... and I think I catch the start of an echo. His applause sounds dead, hollow and biting.
“Well done ...” He starts, and the echo is lost. I blink away the feeling and grin deeper still. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”
He bring one hand up and takes a deep, silent drag of the smouldering cheroot gripped between first and second fingers. Thick red smoke falls to the floor in lazy, languid loops and whirls - where it settles, the grass seems to shrink back slightly, the earth dull out to grey.
I never noticed that before.
“Missing something?” He asks, the whites of his eyes fresh on my hand. I lift it and inspect both sides ... nothing unusual.
I shake my head and step forward. A thousand thoughts and feelings rush through me with every second, but my mouth is dry, unwilling to talk. My body knows, somewhere, that any input from me would only lessen things. Take away from the beauty he brings.
He laughs - fuller now, louder.
Again the echo comes back and chimes a hard, brittle chord within me.
Again he speaks before I can catch the feeling ...
“You shouldn’t put yourself down so much.”
Red smoke marks out a dark circle on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, quietly, to make as little disturbance as possible.
“I don’t know. What do you think’s going on?”
I dare not answer.
“Come on ... what’s going on? Where are we?”
In ... in, well. It doesn’t matter. It never has.
“I know at least one person who would disagree with you there. Perhaps you should wonder some time ... wonder if it’s ever possible to be in two places at once? I don’t think so.”
“Why ... why are you ...?” I can’t form the question. The streams all around grow dirty, and shallower still. His perfect silk cape a black, empty swath on the floor.
“The question ...” He said, tugging his hat down tight over his eyes. “Is not ‘why am I...’ - it’s ‘why are you...’ “
I don’t understand.
“No, you never really did. You see ... when things start to go wrong, you need to make a decision. Your body ... your mind ... those who love you ... they all need you to make a decision. And right now, your subconscious is tipping the scales firmly in one direction. It’s had enough.”
He stood, a shadow, a cruel and cold silhouette in the centre of the darkening glade and took drag like pull upon his tight-rolled cheroot ... letting blood smoke fall and wither up the grass.
“What’s going on!?” I shout now, the sacred silence having shattered itself into razor-sharp fragments. A full laugh ... and I need no echo to trace the pain in his voice. He understands everything ... yet tells me nothing.
“You tell me.” He said, simply. “You tell me! Look around ... look at me ... what the ƒuck do you think is going on? Look at yourself and tell me what is going on.”
“But you-”
“-No! Not me - you. Your mind’s been screwing around too long, and now you’ve got to do something about it before it’s too late. This has nothing to do with me - I am nothing, I am you. You are in control, just too timid to realise it.” He flicked one hand around the shrivelled clearing. “Who made this?”
“You did.” I nodded. I knew this much, at least. He made everything ... he was my strength, my inspiration.
The sigh, the gentle shake of the head tells me I am wrong. Everything is wrong.
“You.” He said. “You did. I am nothing. I am you.”
My hands are shaking. They feel empty.
I close my eyes, and want to get away. My body is a knot again. Anger.
“Leave me alone.”
“Your decision.” He shrugs, sending ash to the floor. The dead grass rips up into blood flame, the empty stream-beds crack and collapse in.
“Go away.”
“But ... you know ... I think you’ll be back. It’s all too big to just leave behi-”
“Fuçk off!”
And he is gone.
I stand in the middle of a crowded city street, greeted by the amused, mocking, wary stares of passing strangers and my echoed words bouncing back to me from the clean, clear-cut lines of the buildings rising up all around.
“Dad ... dad ...”
Something tiny, something warm slips into my trembling hand. Beautiful.
“It’s okay ... it’s okay.”
And there are a pair of calm, sure eyes upon me. She smiles, her skin shot through by the harsh, false, afternoon sun. I squeeze her hand in mine and smile back slowly, unsure of exactly who she is, but happy for the link between us.
A snap and crack overhead - a ream of silk flows out through the air and away. I grin and, as the faint, sweet scents of sweat and the red sinking smoke reach me here, I sigh. Simple happiness fills me up - he is here again, come to see me. The tedious weights of life lift a little, set me loose, let me fly as far as my mind can reach.
The city around me dulls out and cracks. I am alone - the tiny, light-shot object has gone from my hand, but it does not matter. He is here, everything is fine again. Through the shifted dust, the silk shines out - red to green, shimmering and pure, stretched down the street, darting around a corner: his rainbow cape, a swollen chord of perfection.
I catch the hint of a wink on the wind and I am running.
Lungs breathe deep, the air shocked into fresh bloom by his passing. With childlike ease, I am running, and I am laughing.
The silken cape stretches away from me into the city we share - I give chase and my smile grows as the distance closes. Where the ethereal material touches the buildings, the brickwork shines out fresh and new - shocking red against the living thread. Plants grow, flowers bloom ... in the shadow of the cape - somehow a shadow, though more light than shade - everything stretches further, breathes deeper and is eager to show off just how strongly they live.
I feel him now as I press on, faster than the silk can unravel before me. A tight knot in my stomach - something akin to nerves, but closer to love. And with every fevered step, the knot grows inside, until every fibre of me is twisted to a tangled heap of breath and speed and anticipation. For what he sees ... for what he makes ... for all that he is, before and after.
The city walls, streaked old and new as the cape twists sharper through switch-back alleys and cobbled one-way arcades, stutter to a staggered halt, and in their place great vines spring up and grip on, snaking furiously along the dull façades. In only a few seconds, the city is left behind, forgotten, and my feet find a softer sharp-cut tinder path beneath.
The forest holds no trees, just man-thick vines and stems streaking past and swelling still - spinning themselves tighter, tauter even than my tangled whole. The darkest green fills my vision - deeper, blacker than my eyes have ever held - but his cape remains an anchor in the void. Over-brassed blue running with lightning-lidded lilac, looped back and into the cliché-cut crimson he so loves. And, again, every tendril it touches bursts open into eye-scolding lime, explodes with transcendent rainbow flowers and strains out ahead, to where he waits.
The path - now walled hard by thorn-ripped green, and roofed in snapping threads of gold and bronze - turns and straightens to a runway. Ahead, the vines fall away and back around again- a clearing in the void, criss-crossed with shallow, silent streams. In the centre, a figure, the silken cape taut to his square shoulders. My heart sighs with me and I slow, my breath easy and level, the touched air rich and strong in my lungs.
He shrugs, and the cape drops, coaxing fresh, vibrant life from the earth where it falls. He takes a few steps forward, further into the clearing, and looks around - all the while, his back to me, his hat dipping down to the thin, entwined streams and up to the grey vine-clawed sky racing away overhead.
Then he turns to me, and claps three, long, slow, claps. At the sound, the stems and vines pulse a brighter shade of green, the water gleams a more dazzling diamond-shine, and my body uncoils itself - gently, slowly, I relax. He is here. Everything is perfect.
He smiles at the rise to his grace.
But it seems more out of amusement than happiness ... and I think I catch the start of an echo. His applause sounds dead, hollow and biting.
“Well done ...” He starts, and the echo is lost. I blink away the feeling and grin deeper still. “I like what you’ve done to the place.”
He bring one hand up and takes a deep, silent drag of the smouldering cheroot gripped between first and second fingers. Thick red smoke falls to the floor in lazy, languid loops and whirls - where it settles, the grass seems to shrink back slightly, the earth dull out to grey.
I never noticed that before.
“Missing something?” He asks, the whites of his eyes fresh on my hand. I lift it and inspect both sides ... nothing unusual.
I shake my head and step forward. A thousand thoughts and feelings rush through me with every second, but my mouth is dry, unwilling to talk. My body knows, somewhere, that any input from me would only lessen things. Take away from the beauty he brings.
He laughs - fuller now, louder.
Again the echo comes back and chimes a hard, brittle chord within me.
Again he speaks before I can catch the feeling ...
“You shouldn’t put yourself down so much.”
Red smoke marks out a dark circle on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, quietly, to make as little disturbance as possible.
“I don’t know. What do you think’s going on?”
I dare not answer.
“Come on ... what’s going on? Where are we?”
In ... in, well. It doesn’t matter. It never has.
“I know at least one person who would disagree with you there. Perhaps you should wonder some time ... wonder if it’s ever possible to be in two places at once? I don’t think so.”
“Why ... why are you ...?” I can’t form the question. The streams all around grow dirty, and shallower still. His perfect silk cape a black, empty swath on the floor.
“The question ...” He said, tugging his hat down tight over his eyes. “Is not ‘why am I...’ - it’s ‘why are you...’ “
I don’t understand.
“No, you never really did. You see ... when things start to go wrong, you need to make a decision. Your body ... your mind ... those who love you ... they all need you to make a decision. And right now, your subconscious is tipping the scales firmly in one direction. It’s had enough.”
He stood, a shadow, a cruel and cold silhouette in the centre of the darkening glade and took drag like pull upon his tight-rolled cheroot ... letting blood smoke fall and wither up the grass.
“What’s going on!?” I shout now, the sacred silence having shattered itself into razor-sharp fragments. A full laugh ... and I need no echo to trace the pain in his voice. He understands everything ... yet tells me nothing.
“You tell me.” He said, simply. “You tell me! Look around ... look at me ... what the ƒuck do you think is going on? Look at yourself and tell me what is going on.”
“But you-”
“-No! Not me - you. Your mind’s been screwing around too long, and now you’ve got to do something about it before it’s too late. This has nothing to do with me - I am nothing, I am you. You are in control, just too timid to realise it.” He flicked one hand around the shrivelled clearing. “Who made this?”
“You did.” I nodded. I knew this much, at least. He made everything ... he was my strength, my inspiration.
The sigh, the gentle shake of the head tells me I am wrong. Everything is wrong.
“You.” He said. “You did. I am nothing. I am you.”
My hands are shaking. They feel empty.
I close my eyes, and want to get away. My body is a knot again. Anger.
“Leave me alone.”
“Your decision.” He shrugs, sending ash to the floor. The dead grass rips up into blood flame, the empty stream-beds crack and collapse in.
“Go away.”
“But ... you know ... I think you’ll be back. It’s all too big to just leave behi-”
“Fuçk off!”
And he is gone.
I stand in the middle of a crowded city street, greeted by the amused, mocking, wary stares of passing strangers and my echoed words bouncing back to me from the clean, clear-cut lines of the buildings rising up all around.
“Dad ... dad ...”
Something tiny, something warm slips into my trembling hand. Beautiful.
“It’s okay ... it’s okay.”
And there are a pair of calm, sure eyes upon me. She smiles, her skin shot through by the harsh, false, afternoon sun. I squeeze her hand in mine and smile back slowly, unsure of exactly who she is, but happy for the link between us.