Passageways

Passageways

A Story by An owl on the moon
"

Inspired by a dream within a dream…

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     Brilliant colored petals drape the lifting limbs as life resurrects the dawn of day. The wind is music, and in it I dance, a child of distant dreams. My younger eyes grasp life from all textures and hues, and I am here unaware of horror; the horror of wasted days.

     In mere moments I age as the sun drives upward, and as its light grows, so does my discontent. How the pain plagues my wearied soul.

 

Strong hands, yet a weaker heart;

callused eyes with colorless vision.

How each dusted fragment

settles upon my aging view.

 

     A groping cloud swallows sun and sky as dark limbs lumber over the ebbing terrain. Ahead rises a secluded mansion, bright and beautiful, with pale pillars of ivory. These pillars are marbled, white fire, reaching above the misting sky, and laced with glimmering gold; the scent of orchid-tinged air breaths around me.

     The doors, huge myrtled soldiers etched in parable fabric, open to welcome me, and I step through this passage like Janus. A flowered fabric covered with crescents lines the entry and the spiral stairs which rise beyond my view. Plushed couches of maroon and deep rose welcome my weariness to rest as I pass through each hallway. Above me hover golden-candled chandeliers, with flames engorging the darkness.

     The fragrance of a feast fills the passage. I now can see the table alight with a profusion of woven breads, lush fruits, and roasted meats of all kinds. Deep forest, camel, and rose patterns dance on the warm walls. In the corner of the room above a white marbled mantle, painted in hushed tones, hangs a gold-trimmed image of Sarah. Her elegant white-laced dress whispers beauty, as her black hair adorns her lily face. A subtle smile embraces her cheeks.  Even the flames’ fervor, burning beneath her portrait, seems feeble in contrast to the incandescence of her eyes.

     In ashen silence, Sarah appears through a passageway dressed in draped ivory.  The room seems to unravel and swell as her smiling eyes draw me to her side, and we begin to swing and sway upon a frosted marble floor.  As she clings to my hand and searches my eyes all that is around me wanes and withers from sight.  In her olive eyes I uncover a world of wonderment, and her strength and song rise within my wavering heart.  For one momentary interlude it seems there is no world but ours. Then, with the sound of a piercing shriek, Sarah flees down a stained and sable corridor.

     I feel a slithering chill wind as I pass from this banquet room into the hallway beyond where Sarah’s image departed.  The walls grow dark and deep, laced with webs and frosted winter. I taste dust in my mouth and smell the musty odor of grappling age as I ceaselessly shift through the parable passageways.

     This narrowing passage leads to a ballroom half undone, with walls open to the wind. The slopes and slants are draped by bats and spindly birds, stirring up a misty cloud of smoke. I hear the haunting chimes of cancering hopes, and feel this darkness drip and skuttle across my fears.

     How this emptiness engulfs the grandeur of my former vision, and rapes this night of aspiration. As a somber silence rises, these vaulted beams bound and bend, collapsing into a final shriek of dust and ashes.  And through the unsettled ashen haze I glimpse the fire of her olive gaze, and hear her sweet and somber voice say, “How you are yet undone.” 

     All sound becomes silence...

 

 

© 2011 An owl on the moon


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Reviews

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Good job once again.

Posted 4 Years Ago


I loved this. You have a wonderful way of painting images with your words, images that will last forever in my mind.

Posted 10 Years Ago


amazing, terrific. I absolutely loved this :) keep writing moreeeee

Posted 10 Years Ago


Oh, this is an amazing combination of the dream images and beautiful language...I am amazed by the vision...this is magical and speaks in that wonderful language of symbols used by our dreams, which gives it a mythical quality...and now I wonder what it means.

Posted 10 Years Ago


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OT
ooo this is brilliant!! magical indeed - the descriptions so powerful and lasting - the "all sound becomes silence" completely tops it off - what a notion! eventually things will fall to silence, like light will eventually dim!! nice!

Posted 10 Years Ago


this should steal the contest you got my vote

Posted 10 Years Ago


I love the darkness in this picture. Its actually so captivating and energizing. The description is fresh and strong, and the work is really getting me to think. Great job Craig. Really loved it.

Posted 10 Years Ago


I have to say that I like your vivid descriptions and eloquint words and yet I seem to be missing one the point at the where Sarah runs down a corridor after she hears a screach. Other than hearing a screach what was her motivation to run?

Posted 10 Years Ago


This is a superb marriage of prose and poetry, such beautiful phrasing, You've told a tale of an incredible space, an extraordinarily wondrous house, Sarah - such a beautiful creature, in such a sadly melodic way I'm almost gasping for breath; this has deep and deeper emotion, mystery, romance, sadness, beauty.

And the following excerpt is just magical, i can see it so clearly, Craig:

'This narrowing passage leads to a ballroom half undone, with walls open to the wind. The slopes and slants are draped by bats and spindly birds, stirring up a misty cloud of smoke. I hear the haunting chimes of cancering hopes, and feel this darkness drip and skuttle across my fears.'

'All sound becomes silence' - a quote to remember, truly.


Posted 10 Years Ago


Great imagination from the picture..The picture is kind of dark to me..You have used great descriptive and imagination to tell the tale...Your presence at my work was like a breath of cool air on a hot summer day..Sunflower

Posted 10 Years Ago



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Added on February 7, 2011
Last Updated on February 10, 2011

Author

An owl on the moon
An owl on the moon

About
2018 was a journey through my poetic novel, An Owl on the Moon. 2019 found me goinging back to a deep inspiration for me... Wonderland...2020 will whisper itself over the seasons... Come walk the worl.. more..

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