Rivals

He scoured the room; first turning over sheets of music that were already lying scattered about, covering the desk and chairs, then turning over the desk and chairs themselves; searching frantically.

Where could it have gone? He had to find it!

Running from room to room, Theo upturned every piece of bedding, furniture, and any other material big enough to hide it. In a few short moments the entire house was in a state of upheaval and he sat on the floor of the living room in a sea of papers, the morning sun shining through the windows that overlooked the sea.

His head in his hands, he rocked back and forth, racking his brains as to where he could have placed it. It had been right there on the desk in the study where he had always put it at night. He knew it.

Without realizing it, tears had begun to roll down his cheeks. He had never misplaced it before, not since the day it was given to him.

Theo's thoughts went back to that day, when he was just a boy, no older than 5 or 6, and his father had brought it home.

It's magic, his father had said as he brought it out from behind his back and held it out to Theo; a reddish, brown violin, with a bow small enough for his young hands.

The instrument did not look magical, or anything but ordinary, but even still, Theo hesitated to touch it. His father smiled and said it was okay; that it was his.

Theo remembered how light it felt, even when he was young. It weighed next to nothing, yet it was not fragile, but sturdily built. Even so, he took it gently in his left with the bow in his right.

When you play upon this violin, his father had told him in a hushed voice, you will be the greatest violinist in the world.

He looked up at his father as he said this and his smiling eyes were telling the truth.

With excited anticipation, Theo put the violin to his chin and the bow to the strings and began to play.

His father had been right.

The music he was able to play upon that violin was extraordinary, even in his youth; the masters of the instrument could not keep up. And his skills only increased as he became older.

Packed concert halls, and world-wide fame filled hi life, all because of the magic of his violin.

And when his father passed away, the notes he played at the funeral seemed to make the skies themselves open up and weep.

The violin called to him to play and he was happy to oblige it. No other musician was his equal when he played upon it.

Now, it was missing.

He was to unveil his newest suite to the world the evening and the violin was no where to be found.

Turning the expansive mansion on the hill upside down had yielded nothing.

Theo now sat in the study, where he knew he had left it and a breeze from the open window caught his attention. He had not left that open. The sheer white curtain fluttered in the soft, sea breeze as he approached the large window, its glass pane swung out wide on its hinges.

Had someone, somehow, gotten passed the elaborate alarm system and stolen his violin away?

Under the window frame on the floor Theo noticed a single sheet of music laying face up. He bent down to pick it up and rested his hand upon the sill. The alarm that should have gone off when the intruder had first entered started to sound as the weight of his hand activated the pressure sensor.

The blaring alarm seemed a distant buzzing in his ears as he looked upon the sheet of blank music in his hand. Blank, except for a single signed letter: G.

Theo crumpled the paper into an angry fist.

He shook with rage; He had snuck into Theo's home and taken his most prized possession; the one person who suspected the violin's true power, his longest and most bitter rival. Theo cursed his name under his breath as he stood in the open window that looked out over the hillside which lead to the rolling waves of the sea below, and vowed to hunt him down and get back what had been stolen.

He vowed to make him pay; Giorgio.

Haiku Stretches

Haiku Vamp 
"Look into my eyes, 
Look and see all you could be, 
Your deepest desires, 
While my fangs sink in your neck." 

Bruce's Haiku 
"My cape flutters wild, 
Wrapping me in its darkness, 
I feel safe inside, 
Where I can hide, I'm Batman." 

Flute Music

In a forest deep I came upon an old man playing on his flute.

He nodded welcome as he blew his melody and I sat upon a well-worn stump across from where he sat atop his own.

Quietly, I sat back and watched him as his knobby fingers moved deftly over the delicately carved flute; intricate designs covered its wood surface and the tune that flowed out of its hand-bored holes had a mysterious air about it.

As I watched and listened, my thoughts wandered through the trees that stood around the opening where we sat. The leaves of the branches rustled with the soft breeze that blew through them.

In my mind’s eye the late afternoon sky became the dark blue of evening with the red glow of the setting sun illuminating it from below and the milky moon from above.

The simple notes of the old man’s song became full and sinuous as they wrapped around the trees to bring them in closer and closer, until the surrounded me an all sides.

I could feel them breathing together with each other, and I began to breathe with them; I felt I was a part of the forest and it apart of me.

I closed my eyes to listen to our breathing as the flute’s melody filled my senses.

The song began to die down from filling everything, to just its first simple notes and I opened my eyes to find I was sitting back in the clearing the woods, the bright sun still lighting the azure blue sky. Nothing had changed and no time had passed.

I looked to the old man and he had become a bear, sitting just as he had been, playing his flute delicately with his furring brown paws.

“Oh, you’re a bear.” I said.

“Yes.” he replied, “And you are too.”

And so I was.

Island

http://disasterpeace.com/track/compass

Lying on the soft grass beside a cool pond she awoke to the song of the cheerful birds flitting about in the tree overhead. Her eyes opened sleepily as a smile slid across her lips. The soft curls of her hair flowed out around her head where she rested it upon the cushioned moss.

Sitting up dreamily, she stretched out her arms and yawned with daintiness. The folds of her white dress covered her legs so only her bare feet peeked out from under the hem. She wiggled her toes as she stretched and then sat cross-legged while fluffing her already perfectly fluffed hair with her fingers.

A chipmunk scurried down the tree she sat beside and ran up to sit upon her knee. She smiled at the little creature brightly and reached down at the ground behind her back to bring out a bunch of nuts in her hand.

She held them out to the tiny chipmunk, which snatched them up greedily with its little claws, stuffing them into its cheeks.

Its furry paws and puffy cheeks made her giggle out loud and the chipmunk skittered off her lap and back up to its branch in the tree. With a playful sigh she brushed the crumbs from her hands and hopped up to her feet.

Today she was particularly happy, for today was a particularly special day; a day that she had been waiting upon for some time now.

Her mood put a bounce in her step as she skipped over to the little pond and knelt down beside the sparkling water to splash its freshness on her face, washing away the night’s slumber.

She patted her face lightly with her damp palms and then shook her head like the tiny birds taking their early morning baths.

Refreshed, she got up once again and skipped a few meters away from the pond, to the edge of the green grass. She stopped and put her hands up upon what seemed to be an unseen wall that she leaned on as her eyes scanned all about; her smile grew wider with every passing moment.

The light, which had not seemed so dim before, brightened on her face with a milky white quality to it, like moonlight rather than that of the warm yellow the run sun. The light flooded in all around her and her eyes found what they had been searching for.

From further out, the grass she stood upon, along with the small pond of water and thick-trunked tree, was only a small, lone island afloat in the vast sea of space.

A clear dome covered the tiny island, which she pushed against in order to get a better look at the scene that was coming into view.

The island clears the curvature of a gray moon it hovers above and gives way to the view of a deep blue sphere, suspended amongst the stars.

The sun’s light now reflects off of the plant and creates a gentle blue aura around its curves.

The girl, standing on her tiny island, is dwarfed by the scene as they move into the center of it. She steps back from the dome’s side as the light gets brighter and stares in silence at the planet’s beauty.

The domed island continues to move on its path and tracks to the right of the big blue orb, further away from its moon. She sits herself down on a grassy mound and continues to watch as she absently pulls out a paper-wrapped package from behind her back.

She tears away the paper wrapping to reveal a neatly made cucumber sandwich and begins to eat it, all the while never taking her wide eyes away from the scene before her.

As she chews politely her little island silently moves along its path and crosses over the scene on its own trajectory into the starry infinite.

Another sigh escapes her lips as she lets her hands drop gently into her lap, this time with a hint of loneliness in it. She moves on her way, sitting on her grassy island, travelling, as she ever has, though space; all on her own.

Perhaps the wait for the next passerby will not seem so long, she thinks as she looks from the shrinking blue planet to the distant stars, a tiny red dot shimmers among them.

Perhaps.

Forest of Forget

Once a man went into the forest; amongst the trees and moss he wandered searching for something he had lost.

However, after searching so long, he had forgotten what it was that he had lost, so he made the dense wood his home, awaiting the day he remembered what it was he had never found.

It was a comfortable life, within the forest where he was surrounded by the creatures and natural beauty that dwelt in the woods side by side with him.

He had made his house in the massive trunk of an ancient tree that reached up and out of the canopy to overlook the green sea of the forest.

It was only in the early light of the morning that he sometimes had a faint recollection that he had come in search of something. Then, as the sun’s light grew, the thought faded like a distant dream and he was content again in his wooded home.

Content, until the day a young woman came tumbling out of the trees and out into the clearing around his tree-trunk home. Behind her the crashing of trees being trampled and a shaking roar followed.

The woman ran frantically up to him where he stood beside his little garden and coward behind his back like a scared little child.

A great, brown bear smashed through the trees into the clearing and charged toward them.

The man stood his ground and the bear slowed to stand on its hind legs, towering over them.

With a deafening roar the bear loomed at the man and the cowering woman, but the man did not budge. He only stared at the big beast and nodded slowly.

The bear calmed and went back down on all fours. With a sniff it turned itself around and headed back through the thicket of broken trees at a lazy lumber.

Once the bear was out of sight and its grumbling grunts were only a faint sound, the man turned to the young woman to ask what she had done to provoke his friend the bear, yet when he saw her face, he saw the reason he had come into the wood.

How long had it been; how had he forgotten; forgotten the face that now looked up at him with the same realization upon her face.

They had both come into the woods to look for what was lost, only to lose themselves, as do any that enter the Forest of Forget.

As a child she had come after her beloved dog, who had chased a rabbit deep within the wood, and as a younger man, he had chased her; his young daughter.

They looked into each other’s eyes and remembered; for that was the Forest’s secret.

Those who entered alone would forget their lives outside the forest and become content, forever inside the calming wood. But those who came in with another never forgot and left as they came, together.

And so, hand in hand, father and daughter laughed and cried, and walked out of the woods to return to the home they had forgotten, together.

Storm of Revolution

Running up the rocky slope, Richard thought to himself of what he would say once he reached the top.

They had all gathered; from the far reaches of the world, coming in legions, to hear what he would say.

Though the truth was, he had no idea what he would say. Everything up until now had just come to him like a voice inside his head that was not his own.

It spoke through him, and it had made sense; to himself as well as all that had heard him, from that very first speech in that dark and wet alley.

His words had spread across the land and they had started to gather; had started to build a force that could wash over any that stood in their way.

As he raced up to the summit of the craggy cliffs, his mind went over all the events that had led him here. The victories and losses, the allies he had gained, and the loved ones he had lost all came flooding back to him.

But those were the costs of revolution. Even the loss of his left eye seemed worth it, if it meant they reached their eventual goal.

When he finally reached the top of the mountain, he looked down at the multitude that spread out below, awaiting him with anticipation and furfur; ancient blood feuds and turf wars forgotten in their common goal. They all stood as comrades.

All hushed as he padded up to the edge and his unpatched eye scanned over them.

In that moment, he knew what had to be said. No voice needed to tell him now.

So proudly, in a voice that carried an echoing boom like thunder, Richard the cat simply said, “Meow.”

And the cat armies of the world below meowed in unified response.

The storm of revolution had begun.

London Fog

Henry did not like the look of the fog that rolled over the dewy grass hills of the city’s large park. It moved amongst the trees purposefully; against the night’s breeze, covering them in mists that seemed to swallow them up into oblivion.

This could not be true of course, he knew that the trees were still there, standing as they ever had been, however, for some dark reason he felt the fog had consumed them, along with the rest of the landscape.

The fog continued to roll itself out onto the cobblestones of the street that bordered the park, coming straight towards where he stood underneath the flickering flame of the streetlamp, smoking his nightly pipe.

A carriage bustled along the road as the fog enveloped it. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves and clatter of the wheels on the street stones became muffled, then silent; as if they had disappeared not just from sight, but vanished entirely.

Henry bit down on his pipe and turned on his heel to walk briskly away from the oncoming cloud of mist that had grown to block out everything it touched; blocked out or devoured.

Looking over his shoulder, Henry saw the looming fog eat up the brick buildings that lined the street. Not watching where he was going, he bumped into the shoulder of someone, knocking the pipe from his mouth down to the sidewalk.

George Grafton was the portly, older gentleman who lived a few homes down from Henry and his family. Begging his pardon and barely hearing the elderly man’s inquiries as to where he was off to in such a hurry, Henry only touched the brim of his hat as he turned to see the fog moving closer.

Continuing to hurry away, he heard a few of George’s upset remarks at his rudeness before the old man was silenced by the fog. Henry looked back and saw that George was gone, lost to the fog that threatened to take him as well.

By the time he turned the corner to the street on which his house stood, he was at a full run to try and stay ahead of the sinister mist. Everything behind was gone, but he did not turn to look anymore, he only wanted to make it home.

Reaching the steps to his townhouse he let go of his hat and let it fly off his head to disappear into the foggy depths. He pounded his gloved fists on the thick wooden door for his Emily to unlock the door and let him in.

He dared one more look over his shoulder only to see the dark shadow of the fog moving in around him. His shout for his wife muffled and then was silenced completely.

Emily opened the door to let her husband in before he busted in down, but only the chilled night air came in, causing her to shiver and pull her schal higher around her shoulders.

She stepped out onto the front stoop and looked up and down the lamp-lit street; Henry was nowhere in sight.

schal

What fool game was he playing at this time? She thought to herself grumpily. Down the street a fog was rolling away, leaving wispy trails in its wake.

Sniffing in annoyance, Emily turned back to go inside and closed the door.

A figure stepped out of the fog as it moved away, silhouetted from the lamp light under which they stood. The figure wore Henry’s close, but from underneath the brim of Henry’s top hat, dark foggy eyes look out as they lit Henry’s pipe and began to stroll; moving purposefully towards Henry’s beautiful brick townhouse. Their new home.