Post by nemusator on Mar 10, 2017 8:58:44 GMT -5
Old man was scribbling at his desk. His head was down, his fingers white from tight holding of quill. It seemed as if somebody throw a canvas over the mans skeleton and it wrapped around him, almost till bursting point. His eyes were blue and watery... Clear, as the mountain lake, yet there was something bright and sharp in them, despite his age... He looked up towards the candle on the desk. Wax was dripping slowly, taking form as it cooled, like a slow motioned lava. The odor in the room was heavy. It was a mix of all the books and leather covers, parchments, and scented candles and sticks.
The sound of quill writing stopped. He dipped it into his inkwell making to him, a pleasant sound. He dried it a little with sand and continued to write. With his other hand, letting go of the parchment, he opened a drawer which made a muffled pitched sound. He took out a wrapped cigarette and placed it into his mouth, with dry lips eagerly accepting it. Than he reached into his robe and after pulling out some crumbs from hem of his pocket, he pulled out a miniature bottle of alchemist fire and lit it up. He drew smoke lustfully, with a deep breath, letting it to completely fill his lungs, than slowly releasing it. Candle flame trembled, and light and smoke curled together into something new. The smell of tobacco filled the room.
He watched in the candle for some time. Than he quickly closed his eyes. He enjoyed watching at bright light, than closing his eyelids quickly. The shapes around the light would imprint in the back of his eyelids, as he was watching them on some canvas. He looked dark shadows, as they changed colors, getting thicker, and finally disappeared, leaving dark red scenery. He was repeating the process as he smoked.
Finally when his cigarette burned out, he squished it like a worm, twisting it in his ashtray, as it was letting go of its last breath.
He continued writing. This time more energetically, more fanatically. From the black liquid letters formed. Various shapes and drawings were coming to life. He liked adding a small detail to everything. He was so practiced at this, that sometimes he hoped that there is no same letter in his writings.
It began slowly as usual. At first, he did not know to differ whether he is really hearing music or was it his imagination. It was so sensitive, as a most delicate spider web, from the finest of all materials. If he wasn't completely calm and focused, it would flew away or tear up itself. He focused on the light of the candle. He tried not to think of anything. Music was getting louder. New finesses were born from the old ones, it was as melody was composing itself in a most logical and efficient way....
Slowly the flame started to shape... Again, at first he could just be imagining all of this. But, as the music was fortifying, so was the shape in the flame becoming more distinct... Little eye sockets formed, a mouth opening, and the voice started to sing, not following but leading the tune, while every word was a hit to him, which made his body tremble and sob.
"A child will come... *Everything but the head-pin of flame began to get darker* ... Into this world... *Some piece of furniture snapped* ... A child... With a wisdom pearl... Find him.... And teach him well!... Or otherwise... *Music stopped, leaving only the voice which now mutated into something like talking crumbling earthquake*... YOU WILL KNOW HELL!"
Wind slammed the window frames, glass flew everywhere, he violently entered the room, ruling the space, putted out the candle, leaving the room in complete darkness, before he vanished.
Old man was weeping as his entire body shook in cramps. He was struggling to breathe. He somehow managed to reach the window, holding himself on crates and chairs as he was walking and the floor under him made squealing sounds. He closed the frames rapidly, than somewhat reassured he rushed to his desk. With trembling hands he lit up the candle again, pulled out a bottle of fine, strong wine and started to drink as liquid was escaping his mouth, dropping around him and soaking his robe.
He knew what he had to do. The time has come.