Entering the room now gave Mr. Christopher the sense of regret he had been hoping would not enter the soul. It was indeed a path painted with graves. There was an elusive smell of iron lingering within the air he inhaled.
The room had its own colors that were drowning in the threatening red. The violent hues would forever bathe the mind of Mr. Christopher. The smell and the red however, shattered as the countenances of teenage cadavers looked into the dead gaze of Mr. Christopher. The faces each formally had spoken to him, but now he loved them more than his average fidelity.
A clatter caused the focus on his apprentices to falter. As the vertebrate in his neck turned, a bitter chill consumed them. His eyes brought forth an ebony figure standing idle on one of the tables. It’s back facing away from Mr. Christopher as the moonlight through blood stained glass embellished the wraith in macabre beauty. Mr. Christopher took a faint step closer to the cloaked creature.
“What is it that you want?” he spoke sternly trying to refrain from abetting the figures intentions. He stopped a few paces behind the table that the creature now used as a pedestal. There was a ghastly stillness tainting Mr. Christopher’s confidence. To the surprise of the teacher, the dark existence began to turn to face him. In place of a face, there lay a white mask. Dark chasms were cut into the mask resembling the frowning face of tragedy. There existed to clairvoyance between the two and Mr. Christopher came to the conclusion that it was a man; or a shadow of a man in the least. He was no longer afraid.
Tragedy lifted its arms and spread them apart as if accentuating the corpses. “Do you answer my question?” Mr. Christopher asked. The frowning face moved up and down in agreement.
“Who are you?”
Tragedy tilted its head like a canine that has been offered something exciting. It knew not what Mr. Christopher had asked. For the shadows of men go by no names.
“Who is your host perhaps?” he commanded. Tragedy stoop up straight and lifted his arms, draped in coal fabric, to their respective sides. The gesture had left Mr. Christopher in a state of awe; however the meaning of the action could only be left to conjecture. The seconds following were volatile and the cold claws of anxiety wrapped once again around his emotions.
Tragedy began to vigorously flap his arms in unearthly grace like a creature that flew. Up and down they went, and Tragedy lifted its face towards the ceiling as if in pleasure. After a captivating display, the flapping came to an abrupt halt, and the white mask looked upon Mr. Christopher’s face once more.
“Do you answer my question?” Mr. Christopher asked once more. The forlorn face slowly ascended and lowered back to center in a nod of understanding. Mr. Christopher fell to his knees in despair. He was enlightened to the name of the ghostly figure that stood before him and it slew him,
For my friends…
… alliance by name, is a malicious affiliation.
He closed his eyes and whispered, “…Like a blackbird.” A tear dripped from the slit of closed eyes.
A sharp pain in the back was the end of Mr. Christopher.
The room had its own colors that were drowning in the threatening red. The violent hues would forever bathe the mind of Mr. Christopher. The smell and the red however, shattered as the countenances of teenage cadavers looked into the dead gaze of Mr. Christopher. The faces each formally had spoken to him, but now he loved them more than his average fidelity.
A clatter caused the focus on his apprentices to falter. As the vertebrate in his neck turned, a bitter chill consumed them. His eyes brought forth an ebony figure standing idle on one of the tables. It’s back facing away from Mr. Christopher as the moonlight through blood stained glass embellished the wraith in macabre beauty. Mr. Christopher took a faint step closer to the cloaked creature.
“What is it that you want?” he spoke sternly trying to refrain from abetting the figures intentions. He stopped a few paces behind the table that the creature now used as a pedestal. There was a ghastly stillness tainting Mr. Christopher’s confidence. To the surprise of the teacher, the dark existence began to turn to face him. In place of a face, there lay a white mask. Dark chasms were cut into the mask resembling the frowning face of tragedy. There existed to clairvoyance between the two and Mr. Christopher came to the conclusion that it was a man; or a shadow of a man in the least. He was no longer afraid.
Tragedy lifted its arms and spread them apart as if accentuating the corpses. “Do you answer my question?” Mr. Christopher asked. The frowning face moved up and down in agreement.
“Who are you?”
Tragedy tilted its head like a canine that has been offered something exciting. It knew not what Mr. Christopher had asked. For the shadows of men go by no names.
“Who is your host perhaps?” he commanded. Tragedy stoop up straight and lifted his arms, draped in coal fabric, to their respective sides. The gesture had left Mr. Christopher in a state of awe; however the meaning of the action could only be left to conjecture. The seconds following were volatile and the cold claws of anxiety wrapped once again around his emotions.
Tragedy began to vigorously flap his arms in unearthly grace like a creature that flew. Up and down they went, and Tragedy lifted its face towards the ceiling as if in pleasure. After a captivating display, the flapping came to an abrupt halt, and the white mask looked upon Mr. Christopher’s face once more.
“Do you answer my question?” Mr. Christopher asked once more. The forlorn face slowly ascended and lowered back to center in a nod of understanding. Mr. Christopher fell to his knees in despair. He was enlightened to the name of the ghostly figure that stood before him and it slew him,
For my friends…
… alliance by name, is a malicious affiliation.
He closed his eyes and whispered, “…Like a blackbird.” A tear dripped from the slit of closed eyes.
A sharp pain in the back was the end of Mr. Christopher.
Like I said, not much but that's the first chapter. A tad confusing but it clears up as it goes.
- Jake T. Edmunds
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