Mandalin The Listener
Mandalinawoke
from a daydream
at his desk one day.
A trumpet
started
to blow
and
blow
and
whistle
and
blow
-Mandalin looked
around
and saw
no one
else
was
disturbed,
as the trumpet
blew
on
and
on...
It blew
louder
and
richer
as
it
blew
and
whistled
in his ears...
Mandalin shook
and jumped up,
shaking
himself
out of
this daze
-But the trumpet
just
blew
on
whistled
along
and
richly
sung
a
tune
of
the
dead,
on
and
on
and
on.
Mandalin grew numb
his ears grew tired
his head grew dizzy
and his patience expired
"Will someone shut that bloody noise up!"
He exclaimed,
and the others looked
in great disdain
as he saw
they heard no sound
and his cry was in vain.
He couldn't stand
it
any longer
so he ran
out and yonder
down the stairs
across the road
to the park
-while the trumpet
blew
and
he knew
of no way to stop it
from
blowing
and
screaming
its tune
on
and
on
and
on.
The tune
of
the dead:
it's song.
People pointing,
others gasping
while Mandalin
-screaming-
darts
across the square,
eyes are shut
while ripping at his hair
-a screaming madman
running
to who knows where.
While the trumpet
cries
and
aches
his ears
and takes
his fears
of death
and makes them
real
in his eyes,
as he feels
his coming demise
in the tones
of the deaf,
as it homes in
on what is left
of his mind.
Mandalin takes
his fleeing stride
and doesn't look behind
as a boulder
knocks him over
onto his shoulder
with his broken neck
in the pond.
The trumpets tune
faded
as it took him
well and beyond.
On
and
on
the trumpet
blows
and when it's
gone,
and faded in the
shadows,
it becomes an instrument
that only the listener knows.
Short story by Aven Black
Read 780 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2010-01-02 at 00:30
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|
Aven Black |
|
Editorial Team |
|
Rob Graber |
