So I was contemplating creating a roleplay with a friend of mine on gaia, and we needed some sort of 'introduction'. I wanted a theme song as well, so I browsed youtube, till I found a song that fit. It inspired me to write the little drabble below. The story on it's own is alright, but I find it more enchanting if you play the song while you're reading. I wrote it to kind of synchronize with the song while you read it, so...
This is the song.
Enjoy? Constructive criticism is welcome.
______________________________________________________________
This is the song.
Enjoy? Constructive criticism is welcome.
______________________________________________________________
- Chicago, Illinois. 13th October 2009. People flock to Millennium Park. The Great Lawn is no longer empty. An assortment of tents litters the city’s most beloved concert venue, the largest situated directly in the centre, towering ominously over the awed bystanders. A white statue stands in the middle, of a young man, eyes closed, head low, and arms outstretched as though he is taking a bow. There is the distinct buzz of intrigue amongst the crowd now – people talking, arguing, questioning; and none yet daring to step forward.
It takes a while for them to notice the music, but with the first twitch of the statue’s hand, the onlookers go quiet, the sudden hush spreading like wildfire amongst those gathered. Another twitch as the music plays on and a layer of white dust disintegrates, revealing skin almost as pale as the crumbling exterior. A shudder, and a soft sigh; more dust, more skin. Marble eyelids flicker once, twice, before giving way to pools of piercing gray, drawing a collective gasp from those who watch, captivated. The statue takes his time to familiarize himself with his limbs, stretching each hand and leg carefully, delicately, as though afraid he will fall apart. And as the music seems to grow endlessly more haunting, he begins to dance.
His movements are graceful and fluid – the stiffness of the stone form gone from his body. A slow pirouette and his audience are reminded of a figure in a music box, condemned to twirl endlessly to the same, ghostly tune. It is his face that strikes them the hardest, however. The yearning in his features matches the care in his actions, and it is as though his soul is singing mute for all to hear it. A sliver of red leaks from the corner of his left eye, and someone lets out a whimper. The liquid stripes itself down his face in a straight line, mottling as it hits the white cloth of his leotard.
It is now that more figures begin to emerge, seemingly from nowhere, reaching out gently to touch the dancer, their own features marred with black. They leave stains on his arms, his clothes, the soot contrasting sharply with the pallid skin. And all the while he dances, glowing a more brilliant white than before, the scarlet that sets itself into the cloth spreading red tendrils across his chest. The figures grow impatient, their touches more insistent, before they pull at him, the black encircling round his wrists and waist and neck, the mass of night huddling around the most radiant of stars. And as the music dies down, his chest seems to throb with the steady beat of the crimson heart that blurs his costume, veins wrapping round his body to lock him in place.
“Midnight.”
It is all he says, before a blast of white dust shrouds the company, sending a shock through the crowd. As the powder clears, nothing remains to be seen, save a slight shimmer in the air. The Circus has come to town.
