This is more of a poem than a story, so the formatting is a bit different. I don't own anything.
Cicero dreams in red. Red red red.
Red for the fire
Red for the blood
Red for the Jester's clothes covered in mud.
Black dreams too. Black black black.
Black as the Void.
Black as the night.
Black as the shadows of the crypt without light.
But anything for Mother. Sweet, sweet Mother.
Cicero wasn't alone in the crypt, oh no! Cicero had Mother and the Jester. The Jester, always laugh, laugh, laughing. Breaking the silence with his chuckle and chortle straight from the Void. The black of the Void, the black, black Void.
Quiet, quiet black. Always listening, listening, listening for the Listener. Listening for Mother, but only hearing the Jester. Hearing the laugh, laugh, laughing coming from the Void, breaking the ringing silence.
Sometimes the Void screamed at Cicero and poor Cicero wished he could scream back, but there was no voice for Cicero, no objection to his condemnation to madness, no objection to the black, red-filled silence.
Cicero often unsheathed the black ebony blade, the black that had spilled so much red. One move would spill his own red, ending the blackened, red silence and send Cicero to the black, black Void that called to him. Called louder than Mother...but Cicero could not leave. He had to listen for Mother, listen to the Jester, listen for the Listener.
Always listening, never hearing. Cicero was not the Listener, no! But the Keeper, and Cicero kept, kept, kept! Keeping the laughter from disturbing Mother, keeping her clean, and happy. No happiness for the Keeper though, only laughter. So much laughter, but humble Cicero lives to serve.
Humble Cicero lives to wait. Wait for the Listener, for Cicero is no Listener. Cicero is no talker either. Cicero is a humble Keeper, the Keeper of Mother, the Keeper of Words, the Keepers of Silence and laughing in the black. The Keeper of Sanity, the Hoarder of Madness.
The Keeper of Sanity, the King of Sanity is Cicero in the dark crypt where madness is as abundant as black. Sanity so highly prized it sat in the crypt, waiting for its master to return. But Cicero was no master of Sanity, merely the Keeper. The Keeper of Sanity.
Wait, wait, and stay, Cicero.
Black is safe. Red is danger. The black crypt is safe for Mother, safe for Cicero, safe for the Jester. Safe for the laughter which Cicero loves. Safe, protected, happy. The Jester is happy, so is Mother...so is Cicero. Happy, happy, happy in the black crypt.
Slip, slip, slipping into Cicero's own mind. Laugh, laugh, laughing. Keep Mother happy,
Keep the Jester laughing,
Keep the red from spilling,
Keep Sanity from falling,
Keep, keep, keep, Cicero.
Keep her safe, Cicero.
Keep your pledge, Cicero.
Keep the tenants, Cicero.
Keep to the shadows, Cicero.
Keep, keep, keep, keep, keep, Cicero.
Keep the Sanity, not the madness.
...Crazy? Cicero? That's...madness...
This is my second published story. I hope you liked it! I got such an overwhelming response for my first story, so I'm really excited to write more! Thanks for reading! :)