Sunday, February 18, 2007

This place is pretty spooky; empty like this.

Lights, caravans and tents of joy. At night they are all empty, lifeless and desolate.

The lights are up anyway though, just for us. Tell me that ain't just a bit spooky?

There's a church in a sepia graveyard. Outside the church is a plasticine tree, like a monster out of an old Ray Harryhausen movie. Maybe some nights it comes alive, stop motion, unnatural, unnerving. Jerkily moving from grave to grave, drawing amputated stumps of arms across the stones. Lovingly, despite the clumsiness. It checks its wards, ensures that their rest is ever peaceful. If it does though it is missing the tragedy, they were all gone long ago.

Come on. I want to get out of this place. It feels like a million eyes on me. All looking right inside me. Can't we get out of here, I want to get out of here.

Don't you feel like that? How long have I felt like its time to get out of here. How many places have I felt like that. Yeah, this place is spooky. It's nothing new though is it? A circle of light, an infinite darkness outside the light. Nothing in the circle but yourself and you just want to get out. Go some place else, find something else, someone else, a world which extends past the horizon. Even to the horizon would be something.

Yeah this place ain't nothing new. Really its the same as every other place I ever am, every place I have ever been.

Maybe its not the place huh?

C'mon, let's get out of here man.

The only residents left in this sepia city are much more diminuitive than the tree's wards. There are millions of them occupying this place. Opportunists, stow-aways, plague-carriers, people of Apollo. Take your pick, they fit all of them well. Their empire extends around the world, but rarely do you spot them. In the graveyard though they live free. The ancient guardian, so protective of its domain remains ignorant of the blight beneath its feet. His old eyes are poor these days, his ears are gone, he cannot hear their scratch or their scurry, he cannot see their burrows and their holes. But I saw, saw them run across the grass, carefree and careless. Saw them run across the grass, under the tree, into the bushes, into their burrows. What we discard they take as home, what we bury, they feed. A city of bones a city of rats. A sad old tree, all alone.

You were right.

What about?

Let's just get out of here.

That's what I've been saying.

I know, let's get out of here.

How come? What was in there.

You were right?

What about?

Let's get out of here.

How come? What did you see.

Nothing. Let's get out of here.

How come. What happened.

You were right. They saw me.

Who saw you?

You were right.

What about?

A million eyes. A host of eyes. A city of eyes.

Let's get out of here.


Where we gonna go?

I don't know. All I can see is the dark.

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