C A E S A R
- Dim Aldebaran -
I. V E N I
The place has the scent of insanity: sweat, blood, tears, all in that eloquent mixture that spoke to the soul and convinced it of its terror.
But he walks: the echoes were as empty as the rooms.
The blind watches him.
He comes to an end: perhaps it was the chair that makes him smile, directed away in vindictive defiance, or perhaps the emptiness, as if she thought her absence might excuse her.
II. V I D I
There were other prisons for her, of course.
One was her room—
—the other was his.
He finds her at the piano: it was his as well as hers, though not theirs.
Chopin was insufficient; but she had never been the refined sort, and plays with a drama subtlety do not permit.
He sees—
—and smiles.
III. V I C I
Her thoughts stray to Mozart; with his false calm and sweeping pretences on the rationality of emotion. She struggles because it is a false thing to her—she hasn't quite caught on to the adult knack of hiding emotions.
She swears under her breath rhythmically, little gratuities, here and there, like ants up the arm with a creep-crawly feeling.
At the end of the world, she turns with a terrible sort of smile, the sort a mother-in-law has at a wedding, says nothing, waiting for him to speak first as if they were in kindergarten again, raising hands, waiting in line, pass the crayons.
—but she struggles with this too, like she struggles with everything these days
And then there was only her laugh, matching that terrible smile like a flower girl and the bride.
But weddings end: this does not.
She will never stop laughing.
He walks away: the world is his.
:i:
291 words. AFJB.