- Sleeping Roses, Dreams So Dark..
- Me, Myself, and I
- This page was set up by Trina and myself, simply because we both love to write ficitonal stories that have twisted meanings behind them. Trina's stories are quite dark and twisted but also humerous. My stories are more on the Sober and Desperation side of ficitonal writing, why? Because I choose them to be like that.
I think I'll let Trina write her paragraph now, peace and love.
So, you've met Eoin. And now you meet me. As he told you, we set this up because we like to write twisted stories. and we decided to share them. I have so many stories to tell you, dear reader and lost wanderer. But I can tell them to you so much better, if you follow this crooked little path into my twisted wonderland. I have so much to tell you. Around the corner, In the dark. Where all the creatures of my imagination run wild.
The Harlequin stood and looked at Alexa, for a long time, fighting with the emotions trying to spring forth within him. “You don’t really want to go out there alone, do you?” he asked finally, coming to a decision.
Alexa stirred in his chair, coming out of her own faraway thoughts. “Alone?” She asked, glancing over at him “Not particularly”
“Well then. Why don’t you get out of here?” He replied. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone along the way. I have to go meet someone myself”
Alexa frowned slightly. “But what if I don’t want to go off on my own? I’m fairly certain at this point; you’re not going to murder me in the foreseeable future. I can’t say that for anyone else here”
The Harlequin took an empty glass from somewhere among the flowers, and poured some of the red wine he had shown Alexa earlier. “Are you hinting for my company?” he asked, sipping the wine. Alexa glanced curiously at the bottle.
“Well, it’s better than being by oneself. Also, you seem to have more personality than the rocks in the garden” she replied, her natural instinct for sarcastic remarks beginning to surface again.
The Harlequin stood up, and clapped his fedora to his head. “Alright. Let’s Go.” He said, walking past Alexa to the door. He walked out, shutting the door just as Alexa was about to pass through.
“Maybe I was wrong about the rocks” she muttered to herself, frowning again. Walking out, she spotted the Harlequin looking up at the sky. Unlike the sky back home, the sky here was a faint, starry green. Alexa glanced up at the sky, curious to see what had captured the Harlequin so thoroughly.
“Do you see that?” He said softly, gesturing to the northern lights dancing across the sky. Alexa nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes...”
Softly, so softly Alexa almost didn’t hear him, the Harlequin sighed. “Northern lights, dreams so dark…”
“Where all dreams start. And end.”
The Harlequin paused, and shook his head suddenly. “We’re wasting time” he said abruptly, fighting off the fresh wave of emotion that had hit him upon seeing the starts.
“Are we on a schedule now?” Alexa laughed lightly. In response, the Harlequin took out his pocket watch and tapped the glass. “We are earlier than expected”. He glanced over at Alexa, an unreadable expression on his face. “Thanks” he said suddenly. Putting the watch away, he started off down the path.
Surprised, Alexa took off down the path after him. “Thanks..?” she asked uncertainly.
Without breaking his stride, the Harlequin nodded. “For making me leave earlier”
Alexa nodded “Uh.. okay then. Quite welcome!” They continued walking for a while longer, Alexa looking around curiously at the scenery surrounding here. Fog rolled across the ground in reaching tendrils, and everywhere around them were dead and blackened trees, the branches stretching out to snag unsuspecting victims. The path they were following wound through the forest, following no particular direction – at least to Alexa. The Harlequin however, followed the path confidently. After a while longer, the Harlequin stopped suddenly, listening. Alexa walked on a few steps, and glanced back at him, wondering nervously what caused him to stop. “What is it?”
The Harlequin looked around, searching for something. “Can you hear that?” he asked, puzzled.
Alexa tilted her head, and listened carefully. Faintly, she could hear music off in the distance. A soft tune, that sounded like a lullaby for a sleep full of nightmares. At the same time, Alexa found it faintly familiar, and soothing. “What is that…? I think I know that song.”
The Harlequin looked at her strangely, repressing the rush of anger and pain he felt. “That was her song” he said curtly, and brushed past her.
Alexa rushed to catch up with him again, her boots stirring up puffs of dust as she ran. “Her song? You mean…”
2 Comments 212 weeks
[Note: this is continued from my other blog post - I just decided to write it in a new one so it would be seen. So go read the other part first.]
For a long time, there was silence. The Harlequin stood, looking at Alexa, and she stared back at him. An eternity passed, as she tried to see what was behind those empty black eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Welcome to my garden” Alexa was startled by his sudden speech, but attempted to hide it.
“How did I get here?” She asked cautiously. In response, the Harlequin only smirked at her and started to walk away.
“Do you know why I admire these gardens?” Alexa watched him walk away, his long black coat trailing behind him over the ground, the pinstripes standing out in the gloom.
“No” She said. “Why?” The Harlequin stopped, but did not turn around.
“Look at the flowers” Alexa knelt and examined the flowers closely, the colour of her lips matching the hue of the roses. “What do you see?”
“I see… a beautiful flower. Alive, on withered branches when it should be dead. Blood red petals. And thorns.”
“Hmph. Know what I see?” Alexa turned her head and looked at the Harlequin’s back.
“What do you see?”
“Beautiful red roses, sitting in vases filled with red wine”. He turned back to face her. “Red wine and roses”
“Red wine and roses” she echoed, fascinated with the idea. He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off her.
“Red wine is the rarest thing to find in this…place. And red roses are like dragon tears. So you ask yourself. Why red wine and roses? Why those two items?” He paused for a moment. “And here is your answer” Alexa waited silently, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation. “For in any dark place...anywhere in the world…” He bowed, his hair falling forward over his face. “You can always find the most beautiful and rarest things in the world” He raised his head and fixed his eyes on Alexa “D’Accord?” It was all she could do to nod.
“Yes…” She looked up at the Harlequin as he straightened up. “Are these flowers the most beautiful and rare things here?”
“You could say that…”
“What would you say is the most beautiful and rare thing here?” The harlequin looked away, an expression of sadness marring his features.
“She died, long, long ago” Alexa looked down, feeling a sudden rush of sadness mixed with sympathy.
“I’ve kept these roses, and the wine, for endless years… and I haven’t aged a day”
“Time is strange here.” Alexa managed to gather the courage to look back up at him. “What is the back room for?” The harlequin turned around again.
“Behind that door, there is someone who never wishes to come out. He came here not so long ago – perhaps a decade or so. As soon has he saw my flowers, h-“ The harlequin broke off, coughing. “He went mad and was convinced I was a jackal” Alexa was silent for a moment.
“Isn’t everyone mad here? But I suppose some are more dangerous that others” she trailed off for a moment “Are you mad?” The harlequin tilted his head and regarded her.
“Do you think I am? I have forgotten what the terms ‘sane’ and ‘insane’ define” Alexa was silent for a moment, then spoke, choosing her words carefully.
“I don’t think you are mad… not in a way I would be frightened of” The harlequin smiled lightly.
“You are not of this place” he said, studying her attire. “You are too clean”
“I may not be from here. But you cannot deny that I fit in rather well” Alexa laughed softly. “So tell me. Do you think I belong here?” Turning away, the harlequin walked back and seated himself comfortably in the chair that has to terrified Alexa earlier upon her arrival.
“Let me ask you. Do you think you are able to belong here?” Alexa finally stood up and walked a few steps to where he was seated.
“Yes. I do” The
3 Comments 214 weeks
The Coffee cup rested in its Saucer, almost like a hand into a warm silk glove. The soft breeze crept through the Oak and Maple trees around the small Cafe. A Typical day, in a Typical season. Surveying the silhouettes in the distance, Vincent produced a fresh pack of Lucky Silvers' from the inside of his dark corduroy jacket. His eyes were hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses, even though the sun had been hidden behind a wall of grey clouds. Vincent took out the most prized possession he had always carried with him, a golden Zippo lighter. It had been a present from his Father for his 21st Birthday two years ago. Vincent had always been careful when to use this lighter, he clutched it like a bible when walking through the streets of Paris. On good occasions, he would flash the bright gold metal and let the seductive blue flame kiss the tip of his cigarette. On bad occasions he would use plain matches, then dump them wherever they landed. Vincent rested the butt of his cigarette between his bottom and upper lip and stroked the flint from the Zippo. The lighter yawned and breathed out a bright blue flame, the cigarette underneath the seductive warmth.
Then it happened, almost on cue. Like a prostitute to her knees, the rain pelted down from the heavens. All around, ceaseless drones came. The scurry of citizens running for shelter, the traffic building up to a peak. Vincent was still enjoying his dark coffee. Everyday, he had ordered the same Cup. Extra black, no milk but three sugars. He claims it calms him down, even though he is a chain smoker. Vincent tossed the cigarette beside the ashtray given by the pretty young waitress. She was not much younger than him, maybe two years younger. They had never spoken properly before, just a friendly nod now and then. Taking his briefcase into his dripping wet palm, he stands up. Amidst all the chaos around him, and ignoring the fact that the rain had near enough blinded him, "Cheque please", was what he said.
To be continued.
Vincent's silver Rolex reflected the hour and minutes in the pale moonlight, 10:43 p.m. In exactly two hours, Vincent will take the stage with The Roving Harlequins. Tonight is a sold out concert, the Stad De France. Being the lead guitarist and chief songwriter in the band, Vincent always completes the same ritual. Locking himself in his dressing room, he lights three red candles next to a cemetery of Red Roses. The door is pad locked shut, the window openly only slightly. Vincent opens the briefcase lying on his lap, reminding him of a new born baby being cradled by its Mother. Taking a long, deep breath Vincent clicks open the locks with his thumbs and gazes inside, The Harlequin's clothing attire that he had worn for the past two years of endless touring. Vincent took one look at himself in the large rectangular mirror that gazed back at him. These were two Jokers in a deck of cards, bound together by strings of desperation and sobriety. The Moon outside of the Dressing Room window was the only light illuminating the room, apart from the three blood red candles. The smell of Jasmine and Incense exerted a soothing atmosphere, however Vincent was not feeling calm, nor relaxed.
This night had marked the one year anniversary of his Wife's death. Glancing down at his watch again, 10:53 p.m, the exact time that his wife's fragile chest had stopped moving. Vincent swallowed a knot of despair that had his windpipe in a headlock. She was beautiful. Her long, sunshine hair and bright blue eyes were Tattooed in his memories. "Remember how you used to wake up in the middle of the night, just to watch her sleep?", his thoughts taunted. Closing his eyes and slowly bowing his head, Vincent recalls those days of Roses. "She used to hug you so tight that your ribs started hurting, do you remember huh? Or do you want to remember?". Vincent bangs his knuckles down on the Oak dressing table, leaving small brail dents in it. Cursing under his breath, he
9 Comments 215 weeks
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