Levithon's Red Memory

The deaf and dumb man sat in his persian chair. The blind idiot sat on a wooden stool, his back broken.


"Did you see that sunset? I see it in my eyes. But I can't see the sun shine."


The voice whispered in the blind mans ear,


"What did you really see then?"
"I don't know....."



The deaf and dumb man sat there, his eyes opening wide as he saw them coming nearer. It was a vast plain of sand and heat. No one around. Just the two of them in history.
But the third clad in silky black, his long cloak waving behind him, humming, his eyes closed.

They would be taken away. Somewhere safe for them. The blind can see but can't walk. The deaf can hear but can't feel. The dumb can talk but can't move.

The moment was silent as their figures shackled closer to where they sat. The blackness wove a guitar made out of hair, he plucked the strings softly, still, ever so madly humming the sweet, dark lullaby.





Sit here beside me
Till nothing I see
Whisper, just whisper to me

Find me oh find me
Come here and save me
Listen, don't leave me
Stay here and teach me

You won't come back here
There's nothing to hear
It's dark and that's all that I fear

Till then, be here
Calm, sweet, just lay here
Then i'll follow
Hear the meadow
Stay here
I'm going away.....

We Watched Through Double Circles

And each strand of her hair is really insect eyes
And each hole in her tongue is always occupied
By the milk of the sun

And each hair on her head is fields of gold wheat
And i'm lying on my back
And i'm falling asleep

And each lash in her eye in really white roots
And each line in her skin is really red roots

And the neck her head's on is a tunnel of dawn
But darkness will come
For sure, it's gonna come

And the breast on her chest is where I take my rest
Is where I have my fun

And the one long red nail that shoots from her toe
Is tickling my blood
And shifting its flow

And each strand of her hair is really insect eyes
And each hole in her tongue is always occupied
By the milk of the sun

And i'm always late, 'ways late
Yeah, i'm always late

And your black two lips of time
And your hands rejoice in mine
And that seed, it grows all day
And that seed, it grows all night
And our veins are intertwined







We dragged her all the way. Her pitiful moans, her muffled pleas for help, screams for mercy, who would want to listen? Where were we? Nowhere. Everywhere. Somewhere, somewhere she didn't want to be, but we were where she was, this place where no one wants to be. Sat her up on the chair, her hands were tied, her hair brownish, lush in the evening sun. Her eyes filled with fear, wide open, tears, dirty strains on her tanned face. She didn't want this, I did. What else was there to do? Stare blankly into dark skies looking for miracles, screaming in pain, burying the sickness inside. Her body bare, she was dirty, bloody. He grabbed her hair, screams, her last plea. Looking at her, like how a mother would a baby, slowly, so softly pressing the blade into her soft, heavenly body. How sharp it was, how easy. Sliting her open from her bossom down, her blood flowed with such grace. Her tears, her eyes, as she watched her life ebb away from her. Moving closer to her, my lips brushed hers, a gentle kiss. I embraced her as she faded away, bleeding till there was no breath left to take. She felt better lifeless than alive and warm. Yes, cold and unmoving. How passionate our lives are led.

Beauty is still; death.

A two walked away. She, another joined us hand in hand. It's only another day, that's for tomorrow to bring happiness.



If only we were somewhere else..........

The Huns

"Always remember now kid, it's not about where you go or if go or not. It's about how you go. Understand?"

"Where are we going now?"


If only the young one could understand. Trapped behind hard, warm wood, looking desperately around for answers.


"You'll see, don't worry..."


Their sets beeped on and off, distorted voices echoing through the corridor. He shouldn't have brought the kid. What was he thinking? Jesus...
Turning back, he shoved the kid under the bed.


"Whatever happens, keep very quiet, you hear? Be a good boy now, once it's all over, we'll get out and get away from here."


The boy nodded his ead earnestly.
He waved the boy deeper under the bed.

He walked closer to the door. By then, the gas had almost completely fogged the room. He turned the handle, the door made a soft click...
Then, he waited.......







It's the good ones that find themselves here, sand and shingles, walls and undead silence.

Isaac

The week had so much in store.


The gun feeling cold in my hands, the metal, slippery. Looking at the winding staircase, the gunman waited. Commands ran through my head, I needed a second guy at my back, the moment played slowly, saw their mouths open, shouting at me to hurry up, to get moving. The weapon just felt heavier, almost slipping from my hands. The gunman, his weapon trained on me, his finger reaching for the trigger, a little more and it would be over.

But where was I?

I wasn't even there. All thatI felt was the emptiness of the moment. Would it be like this, exactly like this if I came to this point? Where would my mind be? Where would my heart lead me? What would it say to me when I needed it most to be steady?

There was a flash, my eyes blinked. I felt the hard impact on my chest, I felt my body fall backwards. I saw myself fall. Dropping down the flights of stairs. Hands flailing, trying to grab anything that came into contact. Was this me? I looked familiar. Settling down at the foot of the staircase, I looked beautifully calm, no more the heavy heaving of my chest as I tried to breathe before. I lay still, quiet, my eyes were closed. The others gathered around me, while others pushed their way up, blasting the stairs, not caring where their rounds fell, just to blast away in anger and desperation. The wall stained slightly from the wound, my body slumped, a still memory. My last thoughts as I looked at myself was.....


...this will always be what I am.

A year or two later, there would be a screen. A man sitting on a chair, holding his head in his hands, as always. An option to start, to end, or just to sit there and enjoy what the menu played. A soft mandolin, a whispering 12 year old girl that sang Ave Maria for me.