Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Week Thirty Seven: November 8th - November 14th
It was my 21st birthday this week, so I was too hungover to do any substantial writing. I did, however, come up with a new idea for a short story. So I will either have that or an edit of "Tales Told by Lost Shadows" up this week :]
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Week Thirty Six: November 1st - November 7th
The Astounding Death of Gregory Faust.
When I mention classic Hollywood, what is the first image to pop into your head? Rugged men in suits, and fragile women in dresses, majestically floating through heavy hazes of cigarette smoke? In these early days of the American film industry, celebrities acted different than their predecessors today. Some say they had more morals, and others that they were just more talented. I've always thought the truth to simply be that mystery shadowed their every step. They seemed less people, and more so something unexplainable. Of all these stars, a man named Gregory Faust shined the brightest.
Gregory Faust was Hollywood personified. He came from old money, had a seemingly endless supply of talent, and had such a charisma that people who would never meet him in person still felt a sort of bond to him. He was also dashingly handsome, and devilishly sly. I apologize for paraphrasing such a cliché, but women wanted him, and men wanted to be him. Even at the top of the world, Gregory was still looking up, however like another popular cliché, all good things must come to an end. Or perhaps what comes up, must come down. Whatever your preference to outdated saying, Gregory fell hard, and when he hit rock bottom, all of tinsel town winced for a brief second before going back to their lives, as required of their status.
We could sit around all day, and listen to the rise and fall of Gregory Faust, and all of the splendor that came with it, but as the title suggests, I'm here to tell you of something much more poetic – his death. Even to this day, nobody can justly describe what happened, but the most respected, important, cherished, and even loved man in the entire world went out in a way that was infinitely more beautiful than the amazing life he had already lived. Here is the story of the Astounding death of Gregory Faust.
“Willem! Damnit Willem, where are you!” a man roars into the darkness of a moonlit room.
A pool of light from a candle seeps into the room from the space under a closed door.
“Coming sir” a strained, but eloquent voice responds.
The door opens, and the introduction of the candle's flame blinds the laying man for a second. A tall man, with his back straight, and a wearied face collecting wrinkles, shuffles in and sets the candle on a small table next to the mans large canopy bed.
“What can I help you with Mr. Faust?” Willem softly speaks.
“I had another damn nightmare again! This time, I was young again, walking down the streets, and the masses are showering me with admiration, but all I do is stare straight ahead, never gracing them with a response. Until I walk by a mirror, and in the reflection is a defeated old man; the old, wrinkled, pathetic face that I now carry with me. When I look back, the streets are cold and empty. I walk around calling out for help, but nobody responds. I walk back to that mirror, and I see nothing. Even my reflection won't show itself to me. I lay there on the ground, alone and beaten, and the world folds and collapses on me Willem”.
Grabbing the butler by the lapels of his jacket, he pulls himself up to see him eye to eye, and shouts “Tell me I matter Willem! For God sake, tell me I am still as much Gregory Faust as I ever was Willem!”
With that, his hands let go of the jacket, and he fell back to the bed. Tucking him in, the weary old butler allows a quiet sigh.
“We do not age like wine my old friend.” Willem softly speaks as he looks out the nearest window. Blowing out the candle, he gets up and starts to head back to his room. These nightly visits have been a recurring habit for the past ten years. In a matter of moments, he is safely laying in his own bed even without the help of candlelight, and falls into dreams of when he himself was the young assistant of the worlds biggest star. Dreams of all of the love interests his career had laid in his hands, and of all the regrets that he piled over the years.
Over the years, Gregory's life had turned into a single recurring schedule. Up by 9:00 AM, and back down by 10:00 PM, filled with the same habits of eating, reading, smoking, and reminiscing about the old days scattered in between. However, the next morning would prove to be something entirely new. The morning light would boldly enter the room from under the blinds to rest on a clock that read 6:14 AM. Sitting upright with a stunned look on his face, almost as if having an epiphany, he climbs out of his bed, and makes his way downstaires.
Rubbing his eyes, Willem looks over at his clock, and reads 6:16 AM. Chuckling to himself, he rolls back over, and closes his eyes, knowing he still has three hours before Gregory awakes, but is awoken by the distant noise of a car sputtering. 56 years could never erase the noise of Mr. Faust's 1923 custom Desmond Model 7, a car that had about as much status as the man who bought it did. It was rightfully named Norma. Rushing downstairs, he masterfully cuts through the mansion, to arrive at a garage, and opens it while breathing heavily. “About time you woke up Willem. Make us some breakfast, and get ready to take me to town, I've got an audition” a voice says from under the hood of the vehicle.
Wringing his hands together fitfully, Willem raises his hand to speak, but lets it fall several times before finally clearing his throat to continue, but is immediately cut off by Gregory.
“No Willem, I will not be talked out of it, and no this isn't me finally going mad. I have decided to get back out in the acting business. The world doesn't remember me, but they will my friend. I'm Gregory Faust god damnit! I'll grab the world by the throat, and won't let go until you wrench my dying hand from it”. “So be a good man, and get ready to leave, time is of the essence!” Gregory says as he slams the hood down. “Ahh, good as new. I'll be in the cab waiting for you, hurry now.”
Gloves, scarf, and goggles all equipped, Willem fires up the engine, and closes his eyes for one second. A flood of memories of driving around town as a young buck washes over him, and surprisingly puts a bit of energy into his old bones.
“This was a great idea sir” Willem shouts over his shoulder.
“This is nothing Willem, wait until we're back on top” Gregory says with a smirk on his face.
They continue driving along, until Gregory sits forward, and points to a certain street.
“Turn right here Willem, onto Sunset Boulevard. That's where the studio for my audition is at” Gregory exclaims, child-like anxiety creeping from his voice.
Arriving at the studio, Willem turns and stops Gregory by the sleeve of his jacket.
“Sir, I don't mean to dampen your mood, but if things go awry, please don't take it personally” Willem says. Steeling his face, he looks Gregory directly in the eyes. “You have been my boss, and closest friend for 56 years, and if you feel it so to fire me for this, I understand. But sir, you are pushing 73 years old. You've had more in your life than a thousand men combined, and as much as I would give anything to have it back, wishes are a pallet of pastels that paint over your eyes and blind you to what is reality. What is reality, sir, is that maybe we're just too old for this, and we should enjoy the years we have left.” Willem keeps staring at him, and feels a tightening of his chest as Gregory starts to show his age again; the spark of youth is yet again gone.
Jerking away his coat sleeve, Gregory puts on a small frown, and stares at Willem. “I'm Gregory Faust god damnit! Age is no bar to my ability.” With that, he put on a small smile, and in a much softer voice said “Don't worry so much old friend, you'll see”. As Gregory walked away, Willem sat in the drivers seat, and pulled out a cigarette. In spite of himself, he laughed about it too. “I guess i've been in this job too long to start doubting him now” he chuckled to himself. Taking a final drag, and flicking the cigarette out of the window, Willem locked up the car, and started to shuffle inside the studio, curiously enough feeling a little kick in his step.
Backstage, Gregory stands in front of a mirror looking at himself. How many times he been standing like this backstage in his life? The numbers in his head were warped and running together, and he tossed the thought aside and focused himself. “What do you plan to do you old fool, just wing it like the old times?” he chuckled to himself. With his fingers, he traced the lines on his face slowly for a few minutes. “What am I doing here” he muttered to himself a couple of times before being cut off by a loud voice shouting “we're ready for you Mr. Faust!”.
Walking out onto the stage, Gregory felt something in him growing incredibly anxious. A seasoned actor such as himself knew a trick or two about calming his butterflies, but this was something different. He felt what could only be described as feeling out of place, but that surely couldn't have been it. This was his world, he wrote the rules, and set impossible to break standards. He could see nothing but the pitch black of the studio, and the only thing that assured him people were out there were the soft scurrying of men and women busy at work.
After a few seconds, a voice asked “are you ready, sir?” and bright lights flaring up around the stage followed his own affirmation. Holding his hands to shield the light, he peered out into the audience, and stared in horror at the faces. All of the young faces that looked right through him. His nightmare was here in the flesh; his world had forgotten him. He stood for a second, before calming himself, and lowering his hand. To this day, the members of the audience will only say that he looked like a man who had finally found the missing piece of a puzzle long since started.
When he finally spoke, his trained voice started off softly, and quickly rising to reverberate through the studio.
“These lights... They seem so cold and unfamilair to me now. I know this may sound strange, but there was a time in my life where I thought of them as close friends of mine. To be honest, I felt more warmth from those lights than I did for all but a few individuals.”
As he spoke, he stared ahead at no one in particular, and sadly started to pace on the stage.
“What did I expect to happen today? I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps I had hoped that some of that old synergy would be waiting for me with open arms like those of a long lost friend, but I guess it goes without saying that inanimate objects and superstitions are poor excuses for company”.
Softly laughing to himself, he stopped his pacing, and turned to the people.
“I look around and see all of your young faces, and for the first time in my life, I think that I truly feel out of place; I can for the first time feel the age in me. You know, Tom Hopper sat in that directors chair almost 50 years ago at my very first audition. None of you probably remember it, but I decided I wanted to play the lead, Pietro, in the movie Breath of Air, and at the urging of some friends, I decided to show up.”
Staring at the ground, Gregory clasped his hands together, his knuckles showing white.
“This was the very first movie for the man who would single handedly conquer all of show business, but do you know what that old Tom said to me that day? Something incredibly moving, or a melodramatic speech of epic proportions perhaps? Maybe some single, poetic line of acceptance? Tom lowered the lights after the audition, and after a few slack jawed moments of staring at me, he simply turned to me and said “I am impressed”. Of all the things I've forgotten in life, I can still remember this moment perfectly. At the time, something so small amazed me at the impact it had on me. I had just impressed a famous, classically trained director with my first audition. I took it optimistically, and it was fuel that added to the fire of my career. Looking back however, I realize that pessimistically, I would never feel what he felt that day, because I was only offered the best in life. I had never experienced sublime beauty.”
Wiping tears from his cheek, Gregory stared out into the darkness of the studio for a few moments before starting again.
“Coming onto this stage today, I now realize that I retired a long time ago. I assume most of you know who I am, but I am completely unaware as to who you all are. It pains me to say, but this is no longer my world. Now that you know a little more about me than you did this morning, would you be impressed if this was the last performance of Gregory Faust? Lord, for both me and you, I do so hope so. In my parting words, allow me to lament for one last moment.”
Standing up straight, Gregory showed a fierceness to his eyes, and took on a stance that suggested youth. He looked proud, strong, and wise up there on that stage that day, with nothing more than a bright light blinding him, and blurry faces watching him from the shadows.
“I guess if your life's plan goes right even half of the time, you're much better off than most. Lord knows mine is in contention for the best, but I'm afraid to admit that growing old was never part of my plan.”
Turning around and starting to walk off stage, Gregory stops for a second, and lifts his head up.
“I guess I'm human after all, eh?”
With that, he started to laugh as he retreated from the stage, and left the men and women of the studio with their thoughts. “I'm going home” he says to himself. “I've made a big enough fool of myself for one day”.
Willem is surprised to feel tears fresh on his cheek. “Mr Faust, you fool. You poor, brave, brilliant fool”. As a few lights turned back on, he looked around at all of the faces in the small audience gathered around the stage. A few old faces matched up with old memories, and they too had tear strewn faces, staring straight ahead. Willem scrubbed his sleeve under his eyes to dry them, and laughed at the irony of the situation. Gregory Faust could walk onto a stage and tell you that he was disappointed that the world he once controlled no longer acknowledged him, and that he would never act again, and still put on the performance of a life time. Even just talking to himself, the man could still control a room with no effort.
Willem would find his way outside the studio after exchanging a few words with the director, who coincidentally enough wanted Gregory for the part, and was disappointed when Willem declined for him. The drive home would hold no words, but both men held smiles dearly, and when they got home, Willem parked the car, and they walked inside the mansion together, like two young friends returning from a joy ride around the block. They put on an old movie of Gregory's, and fell asleep in the small theater he had built in the house. If they still didn't feel their age by this point, they certainly did in the morning.
Gregory Faust would live for a few more years, and thankfully, they were happy ones. Old friendships were renewed, and even some of his remaining family got to spend valuable moments with him. Gregory was no longer that young hot shot who held the world in his palm, but a wise old man that clawed with tooth and nail to cherish every waking moment that life offered him.
When Gregory died in his sleep one night, the mansion was alive with people. Willem walked around, shaking hands with those who had come to morn for the late Mr. Faust, but he himself, did not weep. Gregory was found in his bed on a bright spring morning, with his hands resting on his chest, and a large smile on his face. For the first time in over 60 years, Gregory had found peace, and found it just in time. The world that he thought had forgotten him, showed its true colors. From the TV to the Newspaper, the world said there goodbyes to the late, great, Mr. Faust – the finest actor the world had ever seen.
Willem would return to the cemetery Gregory was buried at in a few weeks, and hold up an umbrella to stop some of the rain from hitting him. Standing in front of the large obelisk Gregory had purchased some years ago, Willem smiled, and spoke of how the world missed him, and how that he too had missed him. A coughing fit attacked him, and when he lowered his handkerchief, dark splotches of red clung to the clothe. Smiling in spite of the situation, Willem laid a lily at the foot of the monument, and turned to go.
“See you soon old friend” he said over his shoulder. The coughing fits grew softer and softer before a car engine started, and the grind of tires on gravel disappeared into the distance.
When I started to tell you the story of the life and death of Gregory Faust, I told you that his exit was infinitely more astounding than his entry, and I hope that you agree. However, I won't hold it against you if you don't, because no amount of words could ever convey what we felt in that audience that night, watching him grow from a bitter old man into a peaceful one. My name is Willem Black, and the doctors say I only have a few weeks left in me, but I wish it would hurry up. I miss my best friend, and I've grown tired of this world that has forgotten about me. As for you, we all stack up regrets until we shield ourselves with them, and can no longer see life for what it is – A journey, have fun.
“I have lived a fulfilling life, and I admit that I am impressed”.
Read from the gravestone of a Willem Black. A small gravestone in the shadow of a large obelisk in an old cemetery on the south side of town.
When I mention classic Hollywood, what is the first image to pop into your head? Rugged men in suits, and fragile women in dresses, majestically floating through heavy hazes of cigarette smoke? In these early days of the American film industry, celebrities acted different than their predecessors today. Some say they had more morals, and others that they were just more talented. I've always thought the truth to simply be that mystery shadowed their every step. They seemed less people, and more so something unexplainable. Of all these stars, a man named Gregory Faust shined the brightest.
Gregory Faust was Hollywood personified. He came from old money, had a seemingly endless supply of talent, and had such a charisma that people who would never meet him in person still felt a sort of bond to him. He was also dashingly handsome, and devilishly sly. I apologize for paraphrasing such a cliché, but women wanted him, and men wanted to be him. Even at the top of the world, Gregory was still looking up, however like another popular cliché, all good things must come to an end. Or perhaps what comes up, must come down. Whatever your preference to outdated saying, Gregory fell hard, and when he hit rock bottom, all of tinsel town winced for a brief second before going back to their lives, as required of their status.
We could sit around all day, and listen to the rise and fall of Gregory Faust, and all of the splendor that came with it, but as the title suggests, I'm here to tell you of something much more poetic – his death. Even to this day, nobody can justly describe what happened, but the most respected, important, cherished, and even loved man in the entire world went out in a way that was infinitely more beautiful than the amazing life he had already lived. Here is the story of the Astounding death of Gregory Faust.
“Willem! Damnit Willem, where are you!” a man roars into the darkness of a moonlit room.
A pool of light from a candle seeps into the room from the space under a closed door.
“Coming sir” a strained, but eloquent voice responds.
The door opens, and the introduction of the candle's flame blinds the laying man for a second. A tall man, with his back straight, and a wearied face collecting wrinkles, shuffles in and sets the candle on a small table next to the mans large canopy bed.
“What can I help you with Mr. Faust?” Willem softly speaks.
“I had another damn nightmare again! This time, I was young again, walking down the streets, and the masses are showering me with admiration, but all I do is stare straight ahead, never gracing them with a response. Until I walk by a mirror, and in the reflection is a defeated old man; the old, wrinkled, pathetic face that I now carry with me. When I look back, the streets are cold and empty. I walk around calling out for help, but nobody responds. I walk back to that mirror, and I see nothing. Even my reflection won't show itself to me. I lay there on the ground, alone and beaten, and the world folds and collapses on me Willem”.
Grabbing the butler by the lapels of his jacket, he pulls himself up to see him eye to eye, and shouts “Tell me I matter Willem! For God sake, tell me I am still as much Gregory Faust as I ever was Willem!”
With that, his hands let go of the jacket, and he fell back to the bed. Tucking him in, the weary old butler allows a quiet sigh.
“We do not age like wine my old friend.” Willem softly speaks as he looks out the nearest window. Blowing out the candle, he gets up and starts to head back to his room. These nightly visits have been a recurring habit for the past ten years. In a matter of moments, he is safely laying in his own bed even without the help of candlelight, and falls into dreams of when he himself was the young assistant of the worlds biggest star. Dreams of all of the love interests his career had laid in his hands, and of all the regrets that he piled over the years.
Over the years, Gregory's life had turned into a single recurring schedule. Up by 9:00 AM, and back down by 10:00 PM, filled with the same habits of eating, reading, smoking, and reminiscing about the old days scattered in between. However, the next morning would prove to be something entirely new. The morning light would boldly enter the room from under the blinds to rest on a clock that read 6:14 AM. Sitting upright with a stunned look on his face, almost as if having an epiphany, he climbs out of his bed, and makes his way downstaires.
Rubbing his eyes, Willem looks over at his clock, and reads 6:16 AM. Chuckling to himself, he rolls back over, and closes his eyes, knowing he still has three hours before Gregory awakes, but is awoken by the distant noise of a car sputtering. 56 years could never erase the noise of Mr. Faust's 1923 custom Desmond Model 7, a car that had about as much status as the man who bought it did. It was rightfully named Norma. Rushing downstairs, he masterfully cuts through the mansion, to arrive at a garage, and opens it while breathing heavily. “About time you woke up Willem. Make us some breakfast, and get ready to take me to town, I've got an audition” a voice says from under the hood of the vehicle.
Wringing his hands together fitfully, Willem raises his hand to speak, but lets it fall several times before finally clearing his throat to continue, but is immediately cut off by Gregory.
“No Willem, I will not be talked out of it, and no this isn't me finally going mad. I have decided to get back out in the acting business. The world doesn't remember me, but they will my friend. I'm Gregory Faust god damnit! I'll grab the world by the throat, and won't let go until you wrench my dying hand from it”. “So be a good man, and get ready to leave, time is of the essence!” Gregory says as he slams the hood down. “Ahh, good as new. I'll be in the cab waiting for you, hurry now.”
Gloves, scarf, and goggles all equipped, Willem fires up the engine, and closes his eyes for one second. A flood of memories of driving around town as a young buck washes over him, and surprisingly puts a bit of energy into his old bones.
“This was a great idea sir” Willem shouts over his shoulder.
“This is nothing Willem, wait until we're back on top” Gregory says with a smirk on his face.
They continue driving along, until Gregory sits forward, and points to a certain street.
“Turn right here Willem, onto Sunset Boulevard. That's where the studio for my audition is at” Gregory exclaims, child-like anxiety creeping from his voice.
Arriving at the studio, Willem turns and stops Gregory by the sleeve of his jacket.
“Sir, I don't mean to dampen your mood, but if things go awry, please don't take it personally” Willem says. Steeling his face, he looks Gregory directly in the eyes. “You have been my boss, and closest friend for 56 years, and if you feel it so to fire me for this, I understand. But sir, you are pushing 73 years old. You've had more in your life than a thousand men combined, and as much as I would give anything to have it back, wishes are a pallet of pastels that paint over your eyes and blind you to what is reality. What is reality, sir, is that maybe we're just too old for this, and we should enjoy the years we have left.” Willem keeps staring at him, and feels a tightening of his chest as Gregory starts to show his age again; the spark of youth is yet again gone.
Jerking away his coat sleeve, Gregory puts on a small frown, and stares at Willem. “I'm Gregory Faust god damnit! Age is no bar to my ability.” With that, he put on a small smile, and in a much softer voice said “Don't worry so much old friend, you'll see”. As Gregory walked away, Willem sat in the drivers seat, and pulled out a cigarette. In spite of himself, he laughed about it too. “I guess i've been in this job too long to start doubting him now” he chuckled to himself. Taking a final drag, and flicking the cigarette out of the window, Willem locked up the car, and started to shuffle inside the studio, curiously enough feeling a little kick in his step.
Backstage, Gregory stands in front of a mirror looking at himself. How many times he been standing like this backstage in his life? The numbers in his head were warped and running together, and he tossed the thought aside and focused himself. “What do you plan to do you old fool, just wing it like the old times?” he chuckled to himself. With his fingers, he traced the lines on his face slowly for a few minutes. “What am I doing here” he muttered to himself a couple of times before being cut off by a loud voice shouting “we're ready for you Mr. Faust!”.
Walking out onto the stage, Gregory felt something in him growing incredibly anxious. A seasoned actor such as himself knew a trick or two about calming his butterflies, but this was something different. He felt what could only be described as feeling out of place, but that surely couldn't have been it. This was his world, he wrote the rules, and set impossible to break standards. He could see nothing but the pitch black of the studio, and the only thing that assured him people were out there were the soft scurrying of men and women busy at work.
After a few seconds, a voice asked “are you ready, sir?” and bright lights flaring up around the stage followed his own affirmation. Holding his hands to shield the light, he peered out into the audience, and stared in horror at the faces. All of the young faces that looked right through him. His nightmare was here in the flesh; his world had forgotten him. He stood for a second, before calming himself, and lowering his hand. To this day, the members of the audience will only say that he looked like a man who had finally found the missing piece of a puzzle long since started.
When he finally spoke, his trained voice started off softly, and quickly rising to reverberate through the studio.
“These lights... They seem so cold and unfamilair to me now. I know this may sound strange, but there was a time in my life where I thought of them as close friends of mine. To be honest, I felt more warmth from those lights than I did for all but a few individuals.”
As he spoke, he stared ahead at no one in particular, and sadly started to pace on the stage.
“What did I expect to happen today? I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps I had hoped that some of that old synergy would be waiting for me with open arms like those of a long lost friend, but I guess it goes without saying that inanimate objects and superstitions are poor excuses for company”.
Softly laughing to himself, he stopped his pacing, and turned to the people.
“I look around and see all of your young faces, and for the first time in my life, I think that I truly feel out of place; I can for the first time feel the age in me. You know, Tom Hopper sat in that directors chair almost 50 years ago at my very first audition. None of you probably remember it, but I decided I wanted to play the lead, Pietro, in the movie Breath of Air, and at the urging of some friends, I decided to show up.”
Staring at the ground, Gregory clasped his hands together, his knuckles showing white.
“This was the very first movie for the man who would single handedly conquer all of show business, but do you know what that old Tom said to me that day? Something incredibly moving, or a melodramatic speech of epic proportions perhaps? Maybe some single, poetic line of acceptance? Tom lowered the lights after the audition, and after a few slack jawed moments of staring at me, he simply turned to me and said “I am impressed”. Of all the things I've forgotten in life, I can still remember this moment perfectly. At the time, something so small amazed me at the impact it had on me. I had just impressed a famous, classically trained director with my first audition. I took it optimistically, and it was fuel that added to the fire of my career. Looking back however, I realize that pessimistically, I would never feel what he felt that day, because I was only offered the best in life. I had never experienced sublime beauty.”
Wiping tears from his cheek, Gregory stared out into the darkness of the studio for a few moments before starting again.
“Coming onto this stage today, I now realize that I retired a long time ago. I assume most of you know who I am, but I am completely unaware as to who you all are. It pains me to say, but this is no longer my world. Now that you know a little more about me than you did this morning, would you be impressed if this was the last performance of Gregory Faust? Lord, for both me and you, I do so hope so. In my parting words, allow me to lament for one last moment.”
Standing up straight, Gregory showed a fierceness to his eyes, and took on a stance that suggested youth. He looked proud, strong, and wise up there on that stage that day, with nothing more than a bright light blinding him, and blurry faces watching him from the shadows.
“I guess if your life's plan goes right even half of the time, you're much better off than most. Lord knows mine is in contention for the best, but I'm afraid to admit that growing old was never part of my plan.”
Turning around and starting to walk off stage, Gregory stops for a second, and lifts his head up.
“I guess I'm human after all, eh?”
With that, he started to laugh as he retreated from the stage, and left the men and women of the studio with their thoughts. “I'm going home” he says to himself. “I've made a big enough fool of myself for one day”.
Willem is surprised to feel tears fresh on his cheek. “Mr Faust, you fool. You poor, brave, brilliant fool”. As a few lights turned back on, he looked around at all of the faces in the small audience gathered around the stage. A few old faces matched up with old memories, and they too had tear strewn faces, staring straight ahead. Willem scrubbed his sleeve under his eyes to dry them, and laughed at the irony of the situation. Gregory Faust could walk onto a stage and tell you that he was disappointed that the world he once controlled no longer acknowledged him, and that he would never act again, and still put on the performance of a life time. Even just talking to himself, the man could still control a room with no effort.
Willem would find his way outside the studio after exchanging a few words with the director, who coincidentally enough wanted Gregory for the part, and was disappointed when Willem declined for him. The drive home would hold no words, but both men held smiles dearly, and when they got home, Willem parked the car, and they walked inside the mansion together, like two young friends returning from a joy ride around the block. They put on an old movie of Gregory's, and fell asleep in the small theater he had built in the house. If they still didn't feel their age by this point, they certainly did in the morning.
Gregory Faust would live for a few more years, and thankfully, they were happy ones. Old friendships were renewed, and even some of his remaining family got to spend valuable moments with him. Gregory was no longer that young hot shot who held the world in his palm, but a wise old man that clawed with tooth and nail to cherish every waking moment that life offered him.
When Gregory died in his sleep one night, the mansion was alive with people. Willem walked around, shaking hands with those who had come to morn for the late Mr. Faust, but he himself, did not weep. Gregory was found in his bed on a bright spring morning, with his hands resting on his chest, and a large smile on his face. For the first time in over 60 years, Gregory had found peace, and found it just in time. The world that he thought had forgotten him, showed its true colors. From the TV to the Newspaper, the world said there goodbyes to the late, great, Mr. Faust – the finest actor the world had ever seen.
Willem would return to the cemetery Gregory was buried at in a few weeks, and hold up an umbrella to stop some of the rain from hitting him. Standing in front of the large obelisk Gregory had purchased some years ago, Willem smiled, and spoke of how the world missed him, and how that he too had missed him. A coughing fit attacked him, and when he lowered his handkerchief, dark splotches of red clung to the clothe. Smiling in spite of the situation, Willem laid a lily at the foot of the monument, and turned to go.
“See you soon old friend” he said over his shoulder. The coughing fits grew softer and softer before a car engine started, and the grind of tires on gravel disappeared into the distance.
When I started to tell you the story of the life and death of Gregory Faust, I told you that his exit was infinitely more astounding than his entry, and I hope that you agree. However, I won't hold it against you if you don't, because no amount of words could ever convey what we felt in that audience that night, watching him grow from a bitter old man into a peaceful one. My name is Willem Black, and the doctors say I only have a few weeks left in me, but I wish it would hurry up. I miss my best friend, and I've grown tired of this world that has forgotten about me. As for you, we all stack up regrets until we shield ourselves with them, and can no longer see life for what it is – A journey, have fun.
“I have lived a fulfilling life, and I admit that I am impressed”.
Read from the gravestone of a Willem Black. A small gravestone in the shadow of a large obelisk in an old cemetery on the south side of town.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Week Thirty Five: October 25th - October 31st
A no show this time guys. I have all but the ending for a new story though, so this week will have one :]
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Week Thirty Four: October 18th - October 24th
Amanda's Nocturne
The year is 1789, and pools of light from finely worked iron lanterns reflect off the waters surface in the canals in Venice. The way the rivers glowed, it seemed as if they were alive; the city itself, excited. The wind carries the smells of October, and an army of masks marching in the streets speaks of Carnival. Loud music is drown out by even louder laughter barging out of every window and door in the town. The entire city seems to be drunk, and enjoying themselves.
A large white building with big red doors in the rich district sounds awkwardly muffled as compared to the rest of the city. Windows and front doors both tightly shut and covered from the inside, this is a party for the upper class. The secretive nature of the party only appears to be under the guise of social elitism at first. Watching the mannerism of the people behind the female masks, we can tell not all of these are women of nobility. It's quite common for the wealthy and bored to invite pretty young peasant girls to parties in order to seduce them for a night.
These poor girls were drunken sheep, never feeling the puppet strings being wrapped around their wrists by all of the wolves. They would dance about, and take the drinks offered to them, before one of the male masks would take them by the arm to a back room. The band inside played loud enough that none could hear, but through the haze of the wine and the elevation of the noses, no one would have worried anyway. This goes on for an hour or two, before the alcohol starts to fade, and the rich take up their positions for a group dance. The music turns to discord for a second as the large red doors fling open to allow a couple draped with black cloaks.
An overweight man, who probably owns the estate, throws his hands up in the air a few times, and the music hesitantly starts back up. Walking with their heads to the ground, the onlookers can only see the gold and silver of their masks reflecting in the dim light from under their hoods. The portly man starts to throw his hands up in anger, and the band starts to play a song of faster pace. Still stuck between curiosity, the other people dance hesitantly, as they watch the couple proceed to the middle of the ballroom.
Arriving at the middle, the couple cast of their cloaks, and the crowd explodes into a symphony of exclamation. The male wears an off-white mask with a long protruding nose, decorated with music notes. His eyes are completely black, much like the suit he wears. Black paint drips from his mouth down his chin, and his hair is messily slicked back to his scalp. The woman wears a smaller mask of silver an elegant vinework, with the same matching music notes. Her white dress is form fitting, and her dainty body distracts the men from her equally black eyes, and the black paint running out from them down her face. They gently touch hands, and the man flashes an inky grin.
They start to dance around the room, and the crowds voices shrink as their eyes grow in size. Sometimes seeming suspended in air, the couple dances more beautifully than anything these people have ever seen. Spinning her lightly in his strong arms, and her circling him with a mysterious grin, the couple never miss a beat. Watching in ecstasy, the collective crowd starts to froth and bubble as they nervously giggle and twitch as if being hit with sensual pangs. A sea of arms reach out from the wall of masks, and reach towards the dancers, but they gracefully sidestep the tearing fingers and continue their dancing. Both smiling with black covered teeth, a hysterical laughter is heard from the woman as the man pulls her to his chest. Roaring his head back, the man joins her in laughing.
The people are vibrating now, screaming and yelling, trying to reach the couple. The reverberating sound of an instrument string snapping is heard for a second before the crowd turns into a mob, and charges forward, foaming from the mouth. The woman claps her hands, and the lights blow out. As shadows rush to take their places in the lack of light, the couples rise up like waves and crash into the darkness, merging, and disappearing. When the lights come back on, the rich and the poor alike look around in confusion, returning to their senses, and flustered by the feelings in their stomachs. Not knowing what to do, half begin to cry and half begin to laugh. They sit in mass hysteria for a few minutes before coming to their senses, and getting up to leave. They walk to their homes defeated, and sleep off the shame from something they cannot remember for the night.
They say on some nights, in the beautiful city, if you find yourself on the right bridge in the right kind of moonlight, you can see them dancing on the water, feet so graceful they don't even produce a ripple. For just a few fleeting seconds, you can witness both true beauty and horror, as the two are only different by a hair. I warn you dear reader, to look away and run if you can, for if not, you'll end up like me, walking the bridges every night for just one more taste of what I experienced at that masquerade ball.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Week Thirty Three: October 11th - October 17th
Hey guys, I spent all week editing "Tales Told by Lost Shadows", so I don't have anything to post this week, I should have a new story, and the edited version of TTbLS up next week though :D
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Week Thirty Two: October 4th - October 10th
Tales Told by Lost Shadows.
Our tale starts off on a green stretch of softly rolling hills, running in every direction as far as the eye can see. The wind - delicate today – picks up blades of grass the size of a hand, and gently sets them back down. The wind breaks into many different directions, forming gorgeous patterns of intertwining shapes, pressed into the blankets of grass. The designs serpentine together as they run across the field joyously, until being momentarily separated by a little girl standing in the middle of this never ending expanse.
The girl – a child in fact – appears to only be five or six, and is wearing a long sleeved blue jacket, with a brown skirt. A typical school uniform, in an untypical setting. Walking through the grassy field, she looks over her shoulder irritably, and stares behind her. “Go away” she whispers, as she starts to trudge ahead. After a few feet, she looks behind her again, and says “Go away”, this time a little louder than before. She picks up the pace, and starts to quickly walk away. Slowly, her head looks back behind her, and hey eyes widen in anger for only a second before she falls to the ground. Turning around, nothing can be seen in the field except for her shadow, dancing on the waving grass. Surprisingly, she starts to hammer her tiny fists into the ground where the shadow is, and starts screaming “Go away! Go away!”. Aggressive shouts quickly melt into weeping pleads, as she tries to crawl away, crying out “Please... please just go away. Please leave me alone”.
The dancing shadow just stares as the little girl grips tufts of grass with her hands, and sobs into the dirt. Unbeknownst to her, the shadow starts to stretch out, breaking away from her. Tiny hands break from the shadow's side - their fingers trying to lace themselves with hers, but coming up short. The sound of a hammer striking an anvil loudly echoes inside her head, sending her on her back, kicking and screaming for it to stop. Only a few moments pass before she feints, laying there in that field with the wind – delicate today- as it picks up strands of her hair, and gently sets them back down.
For those of you unaware, the human spirit is a fragile house of cards, made up of astronomical coincidences; each part playing its own respective role. If you remove the smallest, most insignificant piece of a puzzle, is it still whole? It still stands, and it may still look good at first, but deep down, we know the puzzle is incomplete. When Amissa removed her shadow, she in turn removed a small part of herself. She now roamed the countryside, searching for something she was never quite sure of; walking ahead, growing increasingly weary with life. Her shadow was cursed to follow her, but never quite able to catch her. He knew if he could say just one word to her, they could be together again, but she would never look back. One foot in front of the other, she stared straight ahead and never saw him.
For years, she walked from town to town, always searching for that something, long since forgetting why she was looking in the first place. Her shadow had given up trying to reach her, and instead finally came to terms that he would never have her back. After all this time, even he was just content with staring at his feet, and marching in line – nothing else mattered anymore. Our tale concludes three months later, on Amissa's 21st birthday.
Mirroring their appearance, the sky above was gray, and the rain was coming down quite liberally. Eyes on the ground, the shadow started to speak to himself for the first time in over a year. “That's right” he says with a small laugh, barely recognizable as such. "Today is Amissa's birthday isn't it. Happy birthday dear” he spoke softly. He somehow found the courage to lift his frail neck, and tried to yet again reach her. The trtuh though, was that he had no hope, and this was just merely just tradition by this point. The soft patter of the rain is broken by a dry scream, as the shadow runs ahead like he never had before.
“It's my 21st birthday today” Amissa said to herself sadly. “16 years of searching for nothing, when is it time to rest?” “I'm so tired” she whimpers to herself. “I'm so damn tired.” She stared only as her feet as usual, until her next step sent her plummeting down the edge of a cliff. If you don't look up every now and then, you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. She didn't recall screaming herself, but she heard someone else in that moment.
Her arms are suddenly lifted as a black figure wraps his own under hers. “Umbra, you're back” Amissa sleepily says. “I am, my love, I am” the shadow responds. Wrapped in his arms, she places her chin on his chest, and peers into his dark face and starts to softly weep. “I'm tired Umbra, I'm so tired” she manages to get out. Turning her head sideways, he presses her cheek against his heart, and begins to drag his fingers through her hair. “Shh, we can go to sleep now my love.” he whispers into her ear. Through a yawn, she manages to get out a “I've missed you so” before falling asleep. Like a long lost friend, Umbra's smile appeared on his face for a moment, as tears streamed from his cheek and onto her sleeping face. He held her close, and closed his eyes, and for a brief second, felt as if flying before slipping off to sleep as she did.
Smiles plastered to their faces, and their minds soundly asleep, they never felt the rocks at the bottom as they crashed upon them. Death came instantly, and although quick, in it, held more meaning than a lifetime of searching. If you ever feel that you are wasting your entire life searching for something you can't explain, just look over your shoulder my friend. Chances are it's the only place you haven't yet looked.
Smiles plastered to their faces, and their minds soundly asleep, they never felt the rocks at the bottom as they crashed upon them. Death came instantly, and although quick, in it, held more meaning than a lifetime of searching. If you ever feel that you are wasting your entire life searching for something you can't explain, just look over your shoulder my friend. Chances are it's the only place you haven't yet looked.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Week Thirty One: September 27th - October 3rd
No show guys. Working 30 hour weeks, and spending my only 2 days off over at some ladies house doing side work. I'm trying to free up some time, but I have an idea for a short story in my mind for next week, AND, I am going to be trying to work on an actual fantasy novel soon :]
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