A Short Story
The sky looms grey—thick. Rain falls. Clouds droop. Pasture slants down large hill. Bare trees—dead, filled with black buzzards, emaciated, lice ridden. Thick wet cows oaf through fields below—coats damaged, black. Fog under the willows, over the corn. He takes an ear. Disappears into damp blue grass. Pine scattered thick. Air saturated with thick cold wet.
The town: silent. Empty. Sealed. Rain departs. Fog stays. Dirt roads stray muck. Yellow wild flowers stray from grey. Horizon spotted with treetops, all else submerged in still purgatory.
More cows. Large creek. Smoke ahead — black, monstrous, consuming. Yellow fields. Flowers sway in soft breeze. Yellow fields caressed by some alien snow. Flames roar, spill through every orifice of some insignificant structure. Empty lawn. Blue damp grass. Vulgar guttural wails.
White flowers under grey sky. Shallow river. Banks of sand stretch. A sparrow carries something away. Fog strays. Barns appear, once white, once red. Nauseous stench: skunk. A kingfisher screams over a small assortment of graves, several bear his name. Heap of animal on the road. Hair stiff with blood. Crows fight over fat and sinew. Scatter as he nears.
Corpse smells of madness. Chews a slice, vomits. Lies in ditch. Watches crows eat. Masturbates. Renews hand in wet grass. Sleeps.
Black skies. Cold night. Thin moon over silent fields. He walks as a crazed shaman through lands like a coyote's hide, arms hanging heavy. His face stiff like a corpse unburied. Trees blacker than the sky. Stars shift slowly. Howls in the distance. Screams in the distance. Giggles and moans.
Small house recedes from road. Windows black. Siding torn, aged. Roof curls. Doorknob cold. Smooth brass. Turns, opens. Dark quiet air suspended in night. He enters. A chair. Two chairs. Kitchen table. More chairs. Sofa. Stairs: Creak. Silent. Silent. Silent. Creak. Silent. Silent. Creak. Creak. Silent. Silent. Silent. Silent. Three rooms. First: toilet, sink, tub. Second: mass of wood, shiny. Piano. Finish smooth, keys cold, two depress under warm fingers. Dissonance misplaced in the dust and obscurity. Rolls of parchment browned and dry. Places one inside of piano.
Second floor filled with noise belonging to neither flesh, nor soul. Cold keys sag, drop, some whisper, some cry as ghosts forlorn and forgotten in the catacombs of ancient memory. Movement in third room. Floor groans. He slips into shadows and becomes nothingness. Piano gains clout. Floorboards groan outside door. Doorknob turns. Hinges whine. Crescendo of air. Ballad matures
and shrieks into the night. Cautious figures in doorway. Solitary. They enter. Room is black. Room is motion.
Cautious figures brought to tired knees by some crazed creature gorged of black.
Trembling figures: A man. A woman. Crying on the floor below the now whispering piano. Man holds Woman. She prays to some unseen entity. God, God, oh God. Nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be seen, he whispers. Cries, frantic prayers, cries. Piano whispers. Piano screams. God, God, oh God. A beautiful climax. Smooth keys flutter wildly. Taught strings vibrate and worn parchment revolves flawlessly. The screams negate. Soft whispers ensue. Sh. So soft, so delicate under the bleak vastness of night. The last key rises. Parchment slows. Silence. Silence.
Third room: large bed. Three still figures. One stirs.