Musician
On the dead moor only a few blackened trees still stood, their twisted branches groaning as they bent, dead leaves dancing around their bases. On one of the largest trees, a notice had been pinned, it's edges ripped where the wind had tugged on it, and the colors washes away by the relentless rain and perpetual mists that spiraled across the ground, snatching at cloaks and reaching for hearts… hearts…
As a gust of wind sweeps through the moor, cutting through fog and forcing rain against the gnarled trunks of rotting trees, the poster is caught up, twirled into the air with the soft rustle of worn paper as it fluttered on the breeze, falling… falling…
The discolored picture floated away, twisting and twirling to the strange melody that played over the land, drawing the listener forward toward the haunting tune's source, as it captured your mind and ensnared you heart, pushing you and pulling you forever onward… onward…
The music had a creepy quality to it, an eerie texture and tone that wound its way inside your head and drew you closer… closer….
An old sign flickered in the damp; the sign illuminated by the dimming street lamp was faded from rain. The words were barely visible on the wood grain, washed out colors gave the impression of an era long past. And the creaking of the sign was the wind sighing…. sighing…
And still the music moved, dancing on the frigid wind and beckoning… beckoning…
While the creak of rotten floorboards rang in the still, dank air, the music grew and grew again. Every note was a drug to the senses, making spark flash and feeling snap. Addicting as ever, the music continued while the light dimmed to a low quaver of a lantern, held by an old man. The shrouded old creature gestured to follow… follow…
And the faded red velvet of the curtains and the frayed gold rope that held them like the embrace of a lover looked new and unmarred by the seductive kiss of age in the light of the swinging lantern. Upon the stage the musician played, his mind the music, his fingers the notes, his voice the bars and tempo while his feet tapped to the beat of the whole world's heart. He and the music, one and all together. His music the music of life, brining old to new and new to old again and again forever and always… always…
As the music came to a jolting halt the musician stood up, sweeping his black silk hat from his head in a single graceful movement. The silver hair of a master glowed and twinkled like his gray-blue eyes as he began to fade. The concert of the world was coming to an end… end…
"Thank you…" Thank you…