Firedance
Fire Dance
Far below the tall trees, rivers, hills and subsequent valleys lived a village unlike any that you may glimpse with your mind’s eye. Far below these prehistoric land marks lives a community in pain with desire and desirous for change. The ruler, the man with one eye, gathers all the founding families in the center of the vista. A circle of stakes protruding from the ground with the diameter of five meters. How to pick a new leader? How to gain the power of the all-seeing, all-feeling, all-knowing, all-hearing, all-judging ruler?
The family of the caves had never been invited to such an event. They hadn’t upgraded to grassy enclaves, which they thought better suited for ox, cows, deer, and all the rest of the herbiferous animals that they had grown so fond of, but still felt provincial in the strongest terms. They stuck to the winding road and strolled (maybe a poor word choice, as the family of caves, although a proud people, were not cocky as much as confident though a fine line delineates the two categories, it can be safely said that the family of caves were modest in mood, but in walking they strolled, so we must remove cockorious connotations from said word if we can paint a most accurate picture of how this family moved: indeed, we could compare them to a lion’s prowl—cautious, yet dangerous and ever-fleeting) through the village. The came upon the circle of stakes. They’d heard about this ‘game’ the village played and never asked to be included in such superstition; after all, the leader let them languish in their cave in languid peace and they never thought to provoke any sort of potential conflict in the man with one eye. One eye equals two fists, which in turn function as a mouth (or vice-versa) which stimulates the villagers to fury, not compassion; anger, not friendship and above all: status quo. Guess what family didn’t embody this status of quo, but a family of caves. This is why it was so curious that they invited to this solemnest of occasions. Content to sow the seeds in their caverns, they still made way out of the darkness, the dankness, of the somnubelent nights, and non-days, their skin, veiny and drained of all that Helios could shine upon the moles of the village.
The ruler steps forward, his left eye blazing, his right eye shaded by his miraculous hair, parted to one side, as was his lip. A half-grimace functioning as a gruesome smile. Blood on the teeth, more to come surely as the night drew on, painted the moon, which rose over the cliffs and shone into the circle, already ablazing, as the stakes were set afire. A wall of flames with but one entrance, a little corridor into the middle, it was shaped like a ghastly mouth, with the same dimensions (ratio-wise) as the littlest cave-dweller, mouth agape with wonder, as he watches the flames jet higher and higher with the swirling winds blowing in from the mount, circumambulating the fire as if demons were riding in from above and immersing the crowd into that surrounding feeling which can only be described as surveillance. Surroundance. Firedance.
The leader stood by the corridor of hell and beckoned to the little cave-dweller, mouth still open, eyes still wet, adjusting to the light of the white oval directly over their heads (he was accustomed to fire from an early age, no surprise here), he gestured to a girl from a village family around the same age as the wide-mouthed youth. With a flourish he motioned toward the doorway, through the mouth of hell itself, which grinned back to the villagers, the cavers, which winked back until fire filled the void, which sang songs of the ancient upon these families with their brave youth! The girl entered the circle of flames first and found a comfortable part in the middle. Then lied on the ground in a semi-fetal position, her legs parted, her mouth trembling, as well as all other pertinent features, her eyes closed, but suddenly open! The leader, the ruler, the king looked upon the boy, opened his fire-red eye, glared into the non-soul of the cave, mouth, bloody, talons, curled, poised, ready to attack, tear the boy’s limbs out, feed to the birds, the beasts, the villagers. Steps close to the boy, who is getting smaller and smaller with every coming step. Father steps in the way, pleads the virtues of letting a cave boy live. What were they thinking? They have their rites and the village has another set; no doubt, just as important as the cave-kin, but they don’t see the need for life; they don’t see the need for lack of light, just lack of life! The boy takes step toward the ruler. With every step the ruler gets bigger, one eye glistens, drool from his lips, legs quiver, fists clench, boy walks. Boy walks through the ruler, through the door of fire. The girl gets smaller and smaller with each passing step…
Far below the tall trees, rivers, hills and subsequent valleys lived a village unlike any that you may glimpse with your mind’s eye. Far below these prehistoric land marks lives a community in pain with desire and desirous for change. The ruler, the man with one eye, gathers all the founding families in the center of the vista. A circle of stakes protruding from the ground with the diameter of five meters. How to pick a new leader? How to gain the power of the all-seeing, all-feeling, all-knowing, all-hearing, all-judging ruler?
The family of the caves had never been invited to such an event. They hadn’t upgraded to grassy enclaves, which they thought better suited for ox, cows, deer, and all the rest of the herbiferous animals that they had grown so fond of, but still felt provincial in the strongest terms. They stuck to the winding road and strolled (maybe a poor word choice, as the family of caves, although a proud people, were not cocky as much as confident though a fine line delineates the two categories, it can be safely said that the family of caves were modest in mood, but in walking they strolled, so we must remove cockorious connotations from said word if we can paint a most accurate picture of how this family moved: indeed, we could compare them to a lion’s prowl—cautious, yet dangerous and ever-fleeting) through the village. The came upon the circle of stakes. They’d heard about this ‘game’ the village played and never asked to be included in such superstition; after all, the leader let them languish in their cave in languid peace and they never thought to provoke any sort of potential conflict in the man with one eye. One eye equals two fists, which in turn function as a mouth (or vice-versa) which stimulates the villagers to fury, not compassion; anger, not friendship and above all: status quo. Guess what family didn’t embody this status of quo, but a family of caves. This is why it was so curious that they invited to this solemnest of occasions. Content to sow the seeds in their caverns, they still made way out of the darkness, the dankness, of the somnubelent nights, and non-days, their skin, veiny and drained of all that Helios could shine upon the moles of the village.
The ruler steps forward, his left eye blazing, his right eye shaded by his miraculous hair, parted to one side, as was his lip. A half-grimace functioning as a gruesome smile. Blood on the teeth, more to come surely as the night drew on, painted the moon, which rose over the cliffs and shone into the circle, already ablazing, as the stakes were set afire. A wall of flames with but one entrance, a little corridor into the middle, it was shaped like a ghastly mouth, with the same dimensions (ratio-wise) as the littlest cave-dweller, mouth agape with wonder, as he watches the flames jet higher and higher with the swirling winds blowing in from the mount, circumambulating the fire as if demons were riding in from above and immersing the crowd into that surrounding feeling which can only be described as surveillance. Surroundance. Firedance.
The leader stood by the corridor of hell and beckoned to the little cave-dweller, mouth still open, eyes still wet, adjusting to the light of the white oval directly over their heads (he was accustomed to fire from an early age, no surprise here), he gestured to a girl from a village family around the same age as the wide-mouthed youth. With a flourish he motioned toward the doorway, through the mouth of hell itself, which grinned back to the villagers, the cavers, which winked back until fire filled the void, which sang songs of the ancient upon these families with their brave youth! The girl entered the circle of flames first and found a comfortable part in the middle. Then lied on the ground in a semi-fetal position, her legs parted, her mouth trembling, as well as all other pertinent features, her eyes closed, but suddenly open! The leader, the ruler, the king looked upon the boy, opened his fire-red eye, glared into the non-soul of the cave, mouth, bloody, talons, curled, poised, ready to attack, tear the boy’s limbs out, feed to the birds, the beasts, the villagers. Steps close to the boy, who is getting smaller and smaller with every coming step. Father steps in the way, pleads the virtues of letting a cave boy live. What were they thinking? They have their rites and the village has another set; no doubt, just as important as the cave-kin, but they don’t see the need for life; they don’t see the need for lack of light, just lack of life! The boy takes step toward the ruler. With every step the ruler gets bigger, one eye glistens, drool from his lips, legs quiver, fists clench, boy walks. Boy walks through the ruler, through the door of fire. The girl gets smaller and smaller with each passing step…
posted by neilly bojangles at 1:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home