Very much a first time Writer. This story will be quite dark and psychological but may change. I have started writing again due to the current isolation caused by pandamic, in order to pass time and not go crazy with boredem. So if you have time please so review as I would love to improve with skill promptly. I would very much love to hear from anyone with comments on the begining of this peace.
It will very much delve into the mins of your adults dealing with mental illness, death and love in troubled times. Not much to go on im aware but if I could possibly connect and learn from other in this community i would be extremely thankful.
Hope to talk soon Siren xx
WALTZ OF THE FLOWERS
The past dwelled within his mind. Blood splattered his face.
The smell lingered, metallic bitterness stained his being in more ways than one. The shattering glass ripped through his senses, touch. He couldn't feel anything other then the warm liquid spreading over his existence. Violent screams tore through his ears, through his darkened, naked mind.
His name, over and over. Piercing his soul, relentlessly digging into the black space behind his eyes.
He reached out, determined to find the keeper of the haunting screams, to comfort in his torment. For himself maybe, but comfort nonetheless.
He needed something physical. Something to anchor him back into reality.
The red was growing hotter and hotter to no avail, his body was burning like a fury of fire, hell bent on ending his tortures being. His breath, the very air around filled with something more frightening, the whimsical music spawned within his ears as he struggled to fight whatever his disgusting mind had delivered him to. The screaming grew louder and more invasive as time passed. How much time he did not understand. He didn't understand the depth of these images, Though it's how he would imagine dying. The cold biting at your skin, the fire brought by blood and pain. Battling to devour your heart, flesh and soul. He could imagine a war taking place around him, the spilling of blood, darkening the cracks in the floor where his body lay. Slowly the blood would consume him, override him. He would be nothing but another mangled body creating a sea of red waves. Drowning, everything and everyone around him. Carving his body into nothingness, into unrecognisable flesh. It's how he imagined this bitter travesty the end. Everything being overridden, like the pages of a story. Plummeting into lonely unacknowledged script in a old diminished book that no cared to read anymore.
He did not want to die.
The screams turned into laughter, a beautiful laughter that condemned his fate. Though the sound of innocence branded his face with a sinful smile of regret. His heart grew warm with contentment. Almost.
This disguised voice, angelic filled him with the humiliation of his past once again. It mocked him, laughed at his pain, at his death. He could feel his chest rumble with his own cackling insane sound of a laugh. The irony, he thought, the scene of his death brought about laughter. What a cause of celebration.
His name dripped off the lips of this voice, the way thick blood dripped down one's skin. Rich with a sweetness, that sounded insane to his ears. Like a puppet master manipulating the minds of victims, leading them to their demise. Sweet and all knowing. Like a demon.
The sweet tune that carried this voice drowned his senses once again. The haunting sound condemning him with its climax. He laughed at the complex orchestra, delving into his mind. She was a fairy indeed, of magic he did not know. The sounds only surrounded his being in pathetic withheld hope of restitution. The dance of the sugar plum fairy, did indeed dance through his roused mind as he lay, unmoving, almost un alive.
A lump of burning flesh, teased by the hope of being saved from sin, from evil. A taste of redemption.
"The dance of the SugarPlum Fairy" - Tchiakovsky.
Through the depth of a peaceful mind, a whirlwind of water and ice. With the crushing weight and barbaric pressure that would drive anyone normal into insanity. She swam, with vision, clean and pure to the sound of intense clarity. What it meant to sound like she didn't quite know. Like the swaying melt of frozen blue, like the dripping of sweet piano. A tune of nostalgic virtue or a peaceful all knowing silence. She wasn't quite sure.
The waves reach the shore, blending from the richest purple into a deep vibrant red swirling with might and power of a giant's fist. Though this sea of aptitude held secrets she would never dream to understand, it welcomed her with an open abode of safety and a feeling that was almost home.
The sensation could not be real, weightlessly naive, a mind unpoisoned. Gentle and graceful she fell. Into the calming blue, into the charming royal purple and the foreboding red.
Consumed, with lies and secrets. The Red became angry and bitter. The Darkness was blood. Though not completely blackened. Somehow she still found it unnervingly beautiful. That if her eyes closed for a second to enjoy the light abondance of music or the shivers it left her in, that she would miss the exquisite array of colours, the unruly swirls of light and darkness in a battle for their very existence
She felt at ease as the rich blood red devoured the warriors of the pure, the just. She wondered if she should be scared. As the red ripped apart her flesh. A sacrifice to show loyalty to something she did not fear, nor respect, but purely just wanted. Or needed. With a resilience she didn't know lived within her. As if it was her very life source.
A dwelling dance solidified within her, a haunting dance of mask figures and intangible knowledge. The red became soft. The sounds of rain, patterned against marble. Piano strings, a symphony. Like tears of something darker then the salty liquid that fell from her eyes. She saw the red laying, a crumbled mess against the cold floor. Her bare feet ate the distance between them. Craving to be closer, pining for the body that lay, unmoving. She screamed. Piercing her own skull with nightmares. The red, no, the blood covered the mangled corpse. Devouring its very existence. The sight drove her to an insane cackling of grief, of reciting a name she didn't know. Over and over she laughed, with a voice that wasn't her own anymore. The body lay decaying, a death that no one would ever really remember, and at the life of this fragmented corpse, she laughed. Hysterical, insane she was going insane. She was lost.
After all she knew that her death no longer mattered. Only the red. Only drowning silence.
"silence"- Beethoven
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Please comment and review. I need love in this isolation.
Siren xx