Prologue
The air was still and cold. Small rodents wrestled with the the entangled branches of low bushes. Plots of lawns and neatly organized and cut grass lined with the low hedges, some well kept others overgrown and forgotten. The stars danced with each other, under the silvery spotlight beams of their mother moon. Whispers, chanting, broke the tranquil night. A shiver passed through the cold air, like a ripple in rock torn water. Their feet shuffled, almost gliding along the pavement. Pure, beautiful blackness covered their feet from view, cut just before the ground. Long, elegant, straight as freshly pulled velvet covered the entirety of their bodies. Shadows void of light. Their hands were clasped like monks, heads hung, faces covered by a veil of ultimate darkness. Staring into them was like looking into the heart of a 'Black Hole', void of light. As they passed the rodents and the branches gave up on their fight, becoming statues.
At the edge of this suburban town, these shadows moved. Silence, tranquility, was only broken by the slight murmur of their chants. Darkness stood at the end of one of the perfectly cut lawns, pure blackness amongst a shaded forest backdrop. Vengeful emptiness gazing, yet not, at the numbers present on the bone white dry wall - 7527.
Whispers
At the edge of this suburban town, these shadows moved. Silence, tranquility, was only broken by the slight murmur of their chants. Darkness stood at the end of one of the perfectly cut lawns, pure blackness amongst a shaded forest backdrop. Vengeful emptiness gazing, yet not, at the numbers present on the bone white dry wall - 7527.
Whispers
The gray overture of impending night combating artificial light. Swallowed by the emptiness of nights glory, his room shone in the light of this on-suite bathroom. Living in a small basement suite, consisting of a kitchen attached to the small living space, and his bedroom. The sound of a faucet pouring like a waterfall taken from its forest home filled consumed the suite silence. His bedroom was empty aside from a dresser, nightstand, television and his bed. The walls were empty aside from a painting that was hung just above the head of the bed. Pictures standing like guards next to a red glowing digital clock, showed memories of forgotten happiness. The pictures were stood in a frame like a triad, the center picture showed two people, himself and a female, as did the other two, all smiling. Her brown hair was down, eyes like sapphires, a glow that surrounded the both of them, shone off of her like a flashlight in a box.
The painting above his bed was a print of a Michaelangelo painting, his mother had given him. His mother had forgotten the name while it lay catching dust in their old backwater town houses attic. Painting of angels sending warnings. The sound of liquid stopped, a shadow formed in the open doorway, blocking the only source of light to the bedroom, from the bathroom. The clock glowing, like a tiny spark floating through the wilderness, the numbers of 12:04am. The shadow moved into the formation of himself. He stripped himself of the cotton he was wearing, tossing his shirt onto his faux mahogany floor. His torso was white, not quite pale but far from tanned, he was not buff but he was fit. His abs were not complete but he was not fat. There was a tattoo of a Celtic cross on his left bicep, accented in black ink, which disappeared with a click.
The light was gone, disappeared back to the particles of gas, mixing with electricity. Cold sensation shot up from the nerve endings in his feet, sending shivers back down his body as he made his way to the bed. His head laid against the soft, comforting pillows; his eyes scanning over the pictures and memories, like cogs working in a watch, flooded over his mind. Like a hostage in a terrorist negotiation, his mind forced the non-chronological sequence of images, sounds, smells and emotions.
The Dreaming Soul
The painting above his bed was a print of a Michaelangelo painting, his mother had given him. His mother had forgotten the name while it lay catching dust in their old backwater town houses attic. Painting of angels sending warnings. The sound of liquid stopped, a shadow formed in the open doorway, blocking the only source of light to the bedroom, from the bathroom. The clock glowing, like a tiny spark floating through the wilderness, the numbers of 12:04am. The shadow moved into the formation of himself. He stripped himself of the cotton he was wearing, tossing his shirt onto his faux mahogany floor. His torso was white, not quite pale but far from tanned, he was not buff but he was fit. His abs were not complete but he was not fat. There was a tattoo of a Celtic cross on his left bicep, accented in black ink, which disappeared with a click.
The light was gone, disappeared back to the particles of gas, mixing with electricity. Cold sensation shot up from the nerve endings in his feet, sending shivers back down his body as he made his way to the bed. His head laid against the soft, comforting pillows; his eyes scanning over the pictures and memories, like cogs working in a watch, flooded over his mind. Like a hostage in a terrorist negotiation, his mind forced the non-chronological sequence of images, sounds, smells and emotions.
The Dreaming Soul
Rose petals glistened in the silence of sunlight, her eyes were blindfolded, led only by a hand to hand connection. Trees sang softly as a light breeze pushed through their extended branches. Her heel scuffed against a stone and the fragrance of Rose and nature's natural beauty filled the air around them. He was smiling at his accomplishment of surprise, despite the fact he knew she hated them.
"Where the hell are we?" she repeated
"Relax hun, you'll see in a second!" His lips curled back into a smile.
He could feel the black velvet box bouncing against his leg, in the pocket of his jeans. The song of the trees was drowned out by the soft lyrics of their song. They stopped at the top of a small hill, the sunlight was dimming at the sign of dusk. Her hand clutched his tightly as she recognized the song. Pulling off the blindfold she could see what he had setup for her: A small table with two unlit candles, wired chairs, a small Cd player placed on the stump of a fallen tree which was playing their song. He got down on one knee and opened the velvet box, looking up at her as he formed those words. A flash of the camera as she mouthed that one single word of his conscious desire,"yes".
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He ran into his mother's arms across the freshly green, cut grass. Bare foot, with some blood trickling down the ankle of his left leg. Embraced in a maternal arms, he attempted to explain with a sorrow-filled, childish mumble. The warm, relaxing rubbing of the back started to dry the tears and hold the murmur at a low moan. He cool feel the still breeze brushing the grass against his heels, the blood had stopped it's running, all sounds had been reduced to a soft whisper.
"Mommy?" his opened, bloodshot and dried by the opened tear ducts.
The silence of movements had distracted the young mind as he fell against the grass. The calm rubbing had stopped, the embrace was gone, and the childish murmurs were nothing more than whispers. His mother's voice could still be heard in the back of his mind, like the conscious voice of culture in society. There were shadows, blacker than black with their heads down in which looked like cloaks, moving away from the house.
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Standing in the doorway, consumed by the sunlight only his silhouette was visible. The Hall was lined with pews and at the end of the Hall, stood a casket raised by two chairs cover with a white sheet. Candles were lit and about he only form of light within. This was no Church or funeral home, his sparked unnoticed as tears dripped to the floor. He moved down the center aisle between the pews, to the casket.
Her body was cased among elegant satin cover pillows, her beautiful eyes were shut, closed to the world. Here at the end of the Hall, it was dark, a void of light - A shadow cast over the corpse. He leaned in and kissed her cold dry lips, wiped a tear from his eye and knelt down and held her hand. The people sitting in the pews watching, whispering the the persons next to them, completely empty of all sympathetic thought. He turned to face them, head down walked back into the sunlight, whispering and mumbling how his love had been taken too early from him, how much he had loved her.
As he walked out the door the sunlight consumed him like a door being shut.
He could feel the black velvet box bouncing against his leg, in the pocket of his jeans. The song of the trees was drowned out by the soft lyrics of their song. They stopped at the top of a small hill, the sunlight was dimming at the sign of dusk. Her hand clutched his tightly as she recognized the song. Pulling off the blindfold she could see what he had setup for her: A small table with two unlit candles, wired chairs, a small Cd player placed on the stump of a fallen tree which was playing their song. He got down on one knee and opened the velvet box, looking up at her as he formed those words. A flash of the camera as she mouthed that one single word of his conscious desire,"yes".
----------
He ran into his mother's arms across the freshly green, cut grass. Bare foot, with some blood trickling down the ankle of his left leg. Embraced in a maternal arms, he attempted to explain with a sorrow-filled, childish mumble. The warm, relaxing rubbing of the back started to dry the tears and hold the murmur at a low moan. He cool feel the still breeze brushing the grass against his heels, the blood had stopped it's running, all sounds had been reduced to a soft whisper.
"Mommy?" his opened, bloodshot and dried by the opened tear ducts.
The silence of movements had distracted the young mind as he fell against the grass. The calm rubbing had stopped, the embrace was gone, and the childish murmurs were nothing more than whispers. His mother's voice could still be heard in the back of his mind, like the conscious voice of culture in society. There were shadows, blacker than black with their heads down in which looked like cloaks, moving away from the house.
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Standing in the doorway, consumed by the sunlight only his silhouette was visible. The Hall was lined with pews and at the end of the Hall, stood a casket raised by two chairs cover with a white sheet. Candles were lit and about he only form of light within. This was no Church or funeral home, his sparked unnoticed as tears dripped to the floor. He moved down the center aisle between the pews, to the casket.
Her body was cased among elegant satin cover pillows, her beautiful eyes were shut, closed to the world. Here at the end of the Hall, it was dark, a void of light - A shadow cast over the corpse. He leaned in and kissed her cold dry lips, wiped a tear from his eye and knelt down and held her hand. The people sitting in the pews watching, whispering the the persons next to them, completely empty of all sympathetic thought. He turned to face them, head down walked back into the sunlight, whispering and mumbling how his love had been taken too early from him, how much he had loved her.
As he walked out the door the sunlight consumed him like a door being shut.
Present Day - Whispers
They moved slowly, carefully, methodically up the driveway of 7527. Their chants grew quieter, the world more still, an entire world of statues. They reached out and scratched the wooden door, the barrier keeping them out. They're chanting stopped and all fell quite, no noise, no whispers, no breeze, there was nothing.
The silvery beams of light that the moon shone was muffled by drawn curtains. His bed sat in the middle of the room against the wall, coated in the slight silver light. Around his bed was complete shadow. The door to the bathroom swayed a little, as pitch darkness creped out of the empty room. His head rolled in the pillow, breath heavy, each breath colder than the last. The Darkness moved around his bed as if animated, like a leopard stalking its prey in the grass.
The Darkness moved behind him, blocking the muffled moonlight. A loud ringing filled the silent room coming from the front entrance of his suite. He woke up inhaling a large gasp of air and Darkness disappeared. Startled his arm knocked the picture frame off his nightstand and on to the hardwood floor boards. Sitting face down, his foot moving over top of it. Shivers shot from the nerves in his feet and up his spinal cord. The floor was ice cold as he walked to grab his brown housecoat.
The ringing echoed again through the small suite. Tossing the robe around himself, tying it around his waist he walked through his bedroom doorway. The front door was through his kitchen which lead into the livingroom, and the front door was directly centered in the back. He had a 32" Flatscreen Television, a small love seat and a La-Z-Boy reclining chair. The ringing echoed again, louder and louder as he moved closer to the door frame. The air was cold and still, he moved to the door and grabbed the handle.
Shivers shot through his hand again. His mind was racing: "Who the fuck would be at my door at this hour?" "The Witnesses should all be asleep...shouldn't they?" "Fuck it, I should just go to bed." The doorbell rang again. Twisting the cold, gold handle an icy blast of wind shot through the room. Papers on his refrigerator blew, the magnets holding them in place slide slightly. He pulled the door open, to pitch darkness.
Outside there was nothing but blackness. His voice stammered a bit, he turned and stopped.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
The silvery beams of light that the moon shone was muffled by drawn curtains. His bed sat in the middle of the room against the wall, coated in the slight silver light. Around his bed was complete shadow. The door to the bathroom swayed a little, as pitch darkness creped out of the empty room. His head rolled in the pillow, breath heavy, each breath colder than the last. The Darkness moved around his bed as if animated, like a leopard stalking its prey in the grass.
The Darkness moved behind him, blocking the muffled moonlight. A loud ringing filled the silent room coming from the front entrance of his suite. He woke up inhaling a large gasp of air and Darkness disappeared. Startled his arm knocked the picture frame off his nightstand and on to the hardwood floor boards. Sitting face down, his foot moving over top of it. Shivers shot from the nerves in his feet and up his spinal cord. The floor was ice cold as he walked to grab his brown housecoat.
The ringing echoed again through the small suite. Tossing the robe around himself, tying it around his waist he walked through his bedroom doorway. The front door was through his kitchen which lead into the livingroom, and the front door was directly centered in the back. He had a 32" Flatscreen Television, a small love seat and a La-Z-Boy reclining chair. The ringing echoed again, louder and louder as he moved closer to the door frame. The air was cold and still, he moved to the door and grabbed the handle.
Shivers shot through his hand again. His mind was racing: "Who the fuck would be at my door at this hour?" "The Witnesses should all be asleep...shouldn't they?" "Fuck it, I should just go to bed." The doorbell rang again. Twisting the cold, gold handle an icy blast of wind shot through the room. Papers on his refrigerator blew, the magnets holding them in place slide slightly. He pulled the door open, to pitch darkness.
Outside there was nothing but blackness. His voice stammered a bit, he turned and stopped.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
