Meh. Something random.

[Galefore]

A random little writing I produced. Not anything special. Just completely cryptic.

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Father and Son

A little hovel covered by shadows and surrounded by an archaic and undisturbed land; this sort of sight was not glimpsed by any human or by any beast, for in its own way, even when seen by the eye, it could never be fully appreciated for what it was. Deep inside there lurked history, and deep inside there lurked memories of hatred, love, darkness, light, perception, blindness, sorrow, happiness… Deep inside there lurked everything possible for a home to hold. Even life and death, as every home can wistfully hope never to see, lived calmly there as memories of their events quietly slipped out of mind.

And within, there lurked the figures of two creatures. One was a tall, misshapen beast, whose manner of walking gave him a unique sort of being, an existence of novelty that gave a bit of a chill to watch. He walked about on four legs, each tipped with a short stump of a wood-like substance. He crawled about, looking around him with eyes of amber, enormous portals of vision that felt like they crawled into the mind of something ancient and wise. About him he saw a faintly glowing light, the sun’s remaining rays, escaping dilution by the trees and their enormous branches. The fingers of the old wooden creatures lent a ghostly trick to the floor, of hands reaching towards the alien creature’s unfortunate existence and grasping for his murmuring throat.

From said throat, the creature seemed to recite an epic in some odd language, his voice rising and falling and warbling like some form of high-pitched instrument. He spoke through a wide mouth that seemed to spread in a demented manner towards his ears, his very mind wasted on some sort of ignorance or perhaps insanity that gave him nothing to live for. His ash-colored skin gave no contrast to the bluish light of the sun’s rays, and his long, almost human arms cradled and caressed the other figure gently.

The other creature was a small beast, seeming to have no arms and no legs, staring with a calm face like a corpse’s up at its keeper. It gave a murmur, gentle, every once in a while, as if it aimed to join the odd chorus of the four-legged creature that nurtured it. He would occasionally place the small creature, whose age was unknown despite the appearance of infancy it gave forth, on a bed of straw and leaves formed in the single, bare room of the remote home. It did not eat, nor did it make noise; sometimes it seemed that it did not require breath, its limbless figure rolling around occasionally so that the tall beast had to occasionally put it back in a safe position.

And in this loving relationship, the beast would sing and sing, a father to a creature that was not of his own race. He gave an unnatural grin to his “spawn” every once in a while, a slightly moving spectacle that echoed a fatherly warmth that was not truly present in the creature’s countenance. And he would sing, always murmuring his little tune like a broken record.

There came a time one day where the two no longer exchanged any contact; the tall creature did not sing, and the child did not try to sing along. The two did not move in their usual pattern, and neither gave their sad little grins to each other. And they were happier now, as they knew that there was no longer any responsibility. Only freedom.

A leaf dropped from the sky as the two beasts silently sat, music that once livened the woods around them no longer coming.

Days passed.

Years passed.

And when the years had found them again, they were no more; the two creatures sat in the same position, a pair of petrified statues observed by many dead trees, yellow and red leaves covering the little thatched roof of the cottage they had made their pattern within everyday. The blue glow had become a yellow glow, and by night, the shadows were lighter. The stone cottage, as it was now, and the two stone bodies, sat peaceful as they always would.

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And it remained that way forever. Whether they existed or not is up to you; and which died first is as well, or if they even died at all. But I challenge you to ask yourself, what relevance did this story truly have; could you find the meaning to it, could you find what level of truth was applicable? If not, I hope that one day your eyes are opened. Until then, please see this as a story told by nobody.

[Dux is not you]

Sorry I didn't read it today. I'll be sure to read it tomorrow; I can use some English practice.