Preface
So, I think this is the first short story I ever wrote for pleasure. That is to say, the first I ever wrote that wasn’t required for some class. What I can say about my old stuff, is that I tried real hard, maybe too hard sometimes. That being said, I was surprised by how much I’m not embarrassed by this. I in fact, think it has merit as a weird dialogue-less fusion of poetry and short story. So, you know, read it below.
All was still for a while. The sun rose and fell as the air swirled around the rubble-strewn plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within. A boy emerged on the horizon. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, bare feet striking the red clay with a dull thwomp. He glided over ragged holes where artillery shells fell upon the roofs so rudely, crashing into the single room homes of wood, brick, stone, and clay. He changed his gait to avoid cutting himself on the jagged rubble flung carelessly about. Dust clung to his dark hair and skin as it billowed from the still pools where it resided. He stopped at a hole at the end of the world, an empty broken circle of careless stone, clay, and wood. A circle of wrath and ruin, red dust obscuring raw stains of dark red and brown. His breath caught in his chest, and he sucked greedily at the air. His skin, kissed by sun and sweat, hair jutting at peculiar angle and strange shapes. He sat and dangled his feet over the abyss, swinging them together like a metronome in uncertain time. His eyes, bright and dark, glistened with memory, and he threw a loose tile over the precipice in irreverent remembrance. It flew in a high arc and came down hard toward cobble and clay, but it did not strike the ground. Instead it began to rise, slowly at first, but faster, and faster until it disappeared into the sky, swallowed by the sun. The other rubble too began to rise. They floated up in uncertain unison, like feathers turning to hammers skyward, dotting the bright sun.
The boy’s smile was honest, mouth wide, pink gum, gap toothed. The boy stood on the edge of the roof, delightfully confused and lost in memory. He closed his eyes and leapt from the edge, screaming joyously, and he floated to the bottom like a landing bird, arms outstretched to embrace the strange phenomenon. He bounded to and fro in the empty plaza, his body lifting and falling with an otherworldly grace and unnatural buoyancy. He swam through the air like a fish and drank it like water. He was directionless, careless and hopeful. When he finally burned with exhaustion he ran, leapt onto the rooftops and danced away across the rubble strewn roofs and gaping artillery holes.
Then all was still for a while. The sun fell and rose as the air swirled around the empty plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within. Then came laughter, all different timbre and pitch. Feet pitter pattered across the rooftops like some eager war march, and the boy led a band of children to the precipice, to the hole at the end of the world. Then he leapt forward, with the same joy, the same embrace as the first time, and floated down to the plaza. Smiles grew upon the faces of the other children as the swarmed down to the plaza in graceful and coordinated carelessness. They jumped and plunged until their lungs burned with the hot air, then they faded away onto the rooftops.
Then all was still for a while. The sun fell and rose as the air swirled around the empty plaza, silence echoing out and booming within. Then the air filled with laughter, and words passed along in a language to gentle to understand. The boy and his band fell in from the rooftops. An old man wheeled himself slowly into the plaza, and rose from his chair, giggling and waddling about like a babe on new legs. The children played games and raced around the plaza. The old man watched the children as he paced happily. Cobble was kicked loose and floated slowly away. Then their lungs burned with the hot air. Children leapt away to the rooftops, laughter fading into the distance. An old man wheeled himself away slowly in a chair, rusty iron creaking and clacking on worn tires.
Then all was still for a while. The sun fell and rose as the air swirled around the empty plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within. Then came the sound of laughter, feet, and creaking wheels. The boy came from the rooftops with his band of children. Men and women entered through the thin streets and alleys. Old men and women were wheeled in on rusty chairs and rose to their feet. Children were back at their games, the old, trying their newfound legs. The men and women twisted and turned in acrobatic feats, trying to impress one another and conversing softly. Then their lungs burned with hot air. Children leapt away onto the rooftops, laughter fading into the distance. Old men and women were wheeled away in chairs, rusty iron creaking and clacking on worn tires. Men and women funneled through the thin streets and alleys, soft words clinging to the plaza behind them. Rubble floated slowly away.
Then all was still for a while. The sun fell and rose as the air swirled around the empty plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within. Then the air filled with laughter and soft conversation. The boy came from the rooftops with his band of children. Old men and women were wheeled in on rusty chairs and rose to their feet. Men and women entered through thin streets and alleys. Wooden carts were hauled in by mules bringing the smells of freshly baked bread, spiced meats and the sounds of wooden wheels tapping rhythmically. Children were back at their games, the old trying their newfound legs and men women continued to impress one another with acrobatic feats and engage in soft conversation. The wooden carts peddled their wares to hungry mouths with wide smiles and clinking copper. Then their lungs burned with hot air. Children leapt away onto the rooftops, laughter fading into the distance. Old men and women were wheeled away in chairs, rusty iron creaking and clacking on worn tires. Men and women funneled through the thin streets and alleys, soft words clinging to the plaza behind them. Mule driven carts tapped away in a queer rhythm. Rubble, the hard ends of bread, and discarded bits of meat floated slowly away.
Then all was still for a while. The sun fell and rose as the air swirled around the empty plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within. Then great birds of men fell upon the plaza like a feast of crows. Men emerged from the birds in black, dressed to warm for the weather, pale eyes like sunken holes in the rising sun. A great tent emerged in the plaza, still and white. Rope was hung on metal poles driven into the ground, and stone faced guardians circled, sweating and breathing heavily. Strange devices were erected in the massive tent and metal scraped against metal as lights flickered and monitors bleated and screeched. The boy and his band came and turned away, only the boy remaining, hunched on the precipice, the hole at the end of the world. Old men and women were wheeled in on rusted chairs and were turned away Men and women came in through the thin streets and alleys and were turned away. Carts clacked and creeped on the loose stone and were turned away by the stone faced guardians. The plaza was a sea of black, of sweat, a song of heavy breath and mechanical machinations. The boy’s dark eyes welled slightly. He grabbed a loose clay tile, and he tossed it into the plaza, and he too turned away, leaping lethargically across the rooftops.
The wind stirred, but all stood still. Dark specks painted the sky in strange constellations. They grew larger, slowly at first, but faster and faster until the sky too was a sea of black. Loose stone and rubble came crashing down into the plaza. They tore gaping holes in the white tent. Machines and monitors were smashed screaming high-pitched unnatural squeals. Clay tiles struck the plaza creating volcanoes of dust and fell upon the stone faced guardians as they scattered and chattered in thick, brutal tongue. A chaotic orchestration stormed its way out of the plaza and echoed disharmoniously within. Many heard, turned their eyes momentarily, and then continued on their way. A loose tile fell last, landing gently on the torn white canvas, turning pink and damp.
Then all was still for a while. The sun rose and fell as the air swirled around the rubble-strewn plaza, silence echoing outward and booming within.
If you dug this, you’d probably enjoy my book; “Stupid Shit: Adapted Lyrics and Poems” purchasable by clicking those words, or these ones. You could also check out the poems I recently posted, Ghost Of The Gas Station, and The End
Dirt Witch Records 
Leave a comment