Rogues dream (a strange emotive peice from a project called The Balancer).

Rogues dream (a strange emotive peice from a project called The Balancer).

A Chapter by Jay

A small, relitively unrefined piece of creative writing. The main aim of this piece is to see what this makes other people imagine.


His bald head and weathered hand came to rest slow and soundlessly on the splintering cellar door. As his daughters protests from below petered into sobbing the man let loose a shuddering sigh that echoed down the shadow laden corridors.


The feeble light of a nearby lantern showed threw shadows across his face but showed clearly the stubble that had long since turned grey. His once fine silk suit lay discarded someway down the eastern corridor the scars and dirt which it bore, physical reminders of the trials of both man and clothe.

Sweat glistened on his neck as an angelic light glowed softly from the northern passage. "Her time is coming my love." the women bathed in the light cooed. Although her voice was warm and soothing the mans eyes flared, his jaw clenched.


"And when it does," she continued "no door shall bar her; no person shall lead her astray for nothing may stop our daughters destiny. You know this to be true."

"I know!" He roared. The man had spun about to face her with such ferocity that a drop of bitter sweet crimson trickled from his mouth and soaked into his once white shirt. He slumped against that door and slid to squat on the dusty flag stones. If he had noticed the sharp splinters of wood pierce his back he gave no indication. "I know." he whispered through the bars of his fingers, his hands cradled his bowed head.


The woman’s regal features softened with pity and as she drifted from the light to the mans worn loafers she smiled with sadness and knowing. Taking his rough, bloody hands in her long delicate hands she so on the unforgiving cold floor opposite him.

"I left her in your hands knowing that no one could raise her better." She raised his head gently by his chin. "You have not disappointed me my love." As he raised his head the light illuminated his tired, scared face and the single tear running down his cheek.


He had the stony face of a soldier but worry fidgeted just below the surface. The scars of this worry were etched as physically as the wounds of his many battles but these scars of duty come from a higher authority than any military.

"Wars come and go," the man began loyalty and unrelenting pride on his face "soldiers die and the world changes, but my love for you both is eternal." A second rebellious tear rolled from his face and mixed with a fleck of blood from his bleeding nose.

The manifestation of their sorrow and suffering then rolled down his face and fell the floor. As it hit the stone it made a sound the pair had awaited their entire lives, dreaded their entire lives. It was the deep, mournful sound of a battle drum.


The pair looked at each other knowingly. With each drop, another boom from the invisible drum, the pair felt each in their very soul. "Its time." the man said sorrowfully. The woman screw up her face and nodded fighting for breath.

A new sound joined the march. A clearer sound, sharp and cutting, backed by a deep throbbing tune that made the floor shake. The otherworldly orchestra took up their instruments, their tunes weaving skillfully into a most sorrowful.

It was a march to a war that could not be won. The cold and the sorrow, the mourning, the fear, the last ray of hope drifting out of reach like the ribbon of a balloon drifting endlessly into nothingness of despair. It folded around the man and his long dead wife, cocooning them in their weeping.

The song filled the halls, the candles no longer flickered, the doors no longer creaked. Outside even the wind had paused to pay its final respects. For the music was omega, the last, the song that heralded the end of all.

"And so it begins. And so it ends."

© 2011 Jay

Author's Note

This request may seem a little strange. I want people to read this piece and to interpret it. However I don't want you to try to work out what I am aiming for, what I am trying to convey but what it wakes you think, feel, remember and read in. If you want to hear the song that inspired this listen to the ledgendary Philip Glass - Violin concerto part 2.

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Added on July 7, 2011
Last Updated on October 12, 2011
Tags: Creative writing, writing, review, comments



York, Yorkshire, United Kingdom

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