| Subject: .:.Sorrowfully I admit: neither, nor, or never.:. |
Author:
Zeth
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Date Posted: 01:16:31 01/16/04 Fri
In reply to:
Briallan
's message, "- can't or won't -" on 00:17:08 01/16/04 Fri
.:.A soft sigh brushed the male's lips as it was pushed out from his lungs, escaping into the wild world that had gone so painfully wrong from where the forefathers had intended. Books and stories prophesized the future, wording out descriptive and horribly realistic images with unknown precision in which people had no choice but to follow and believe, to fear and to cherish those times around them. If that really how the future would be…be thankful for the times current. A soft lullaby played to the child within the adult’s body, calling and luring him out. Perhaps it was a trap. Perhaps this was a decoy, a front, a cover-up. But even if it was; even if he should be afraid; how could he be with her gentle words pouring forth around him like a river of aged and timeless wine? Frozen for a mere moment in the jaws of time, in the rut of never-ending failure and uncertainty, he listened to her pleas and cries and begs of mercy. What had become of the woman he’d once loved? What had become of him? On and on the tempo flowed, up and down the notes marked the lines until the male swam in a vision of notes and dancing. From no where the presences of a waltzing couple clouded his mind. Around and around they flowed, seriously tuned to perfection. The silken white dress of the woman flowed around their frames, churning the fine mist that was no filtering into the eerie picture. Like ghosts wafting through time, stable and secure. Repeated and witnessed, they twirled and danced. Closer and closer they navigated, perfectly intone to each other and the serenade. But now, just now as they crowded in upon Zeth, he caught a glimpse of the woman’s face. Streaked with tears and molded into a helplessly pained expression, she flowed with the male, peering into his face with regret. Glanced up before the circle was completed, he caught the face of the man. Much like the woman’s it was contorted with pain and sorrow. Feeling his own tears welling within the lids of his eyes, he looked away unready to face the truth of what he was seeing. himself dancing in sync and rheumatic with Briallan…always dancing their little dance in perfect unison. Knowing what they wanted and unable or capable of getting it. Pointlessly they twirled around and around locking into the symbolic dance with the tune hopelessly looped and never ending. How long would they be trapped into this foreboding madness? Would they ever escape? “For the best of whom? You or me?.” .:.
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