Author's note: Earlier today, I inquired where an appropriate place to post a story such as this would be so as not to upset anybody or put it where it doesn't belong. I was directed to 'Off-topic Discussion', which seems logical to me - so I apologise if this Is in fact in the wrong place and needs to be moved.
As well as feedback, I'm interested to see if you fine folks enjoy my writing enough to want me to post more of it. I do also write story requests, so if you like this piece and there's an idea bobbing around in your head that you really wish could be written but don't have the time or patience to do it yourself, send me a private message and I'll be happy to mull it over.
In the meantime however, here is one of my stories entitled 'The Roadkill Foxtrot' (so named after a cabaret performance my theatre company performed a year or so ago.) A few photos of the event can be seen here: One [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610801_4918981.jpg] Two [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610802_5603260.jpg] Three [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610803_7482282.jpg]
Warning: This story is a little dark, so if you're looking for a happy ending, turn back now.
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It was cold. Very cold. The pale light of overhead candles illuminated the many bizarre objects that were scattered about on the floor of the room. The only remaining source of heat was the wood fire that lay dying slowly in the hearth, casting what rays of warmth it had upon the exposed ankles of the sorcerer.
He sighed and looked down at his clothes, once splendid and formal, now ragged and unclean. He glanced at the half empty bottle of spirits beside him, a mere flex of his focus causing it to rise from the chair's arm and pour the amber liquid into the glass in his pale fingers.
With the bottle now empty, he released it from his mind's grip, the container plummeting suddenly to the floor and shattering on impact. Ignoring the spray of glass, the sorcerer nonchalantly raised the glass to his parched lips and poured the entire contents down his throat, swallowing it in several gulps.
A groan rumbled from his limbs as he hauled himself to his feet, turning his back on the dwindling flame.
Though his eyes were now bathed in pools of shadow, the whites were still visible, scanning the corpses that lay sprawled in the candle-light behind him. Their skin, devoid of blood, had become a pale white - and the mascara that once had accentuated their breath-taking features had smeared and sunk in around their eyes, giving them a burnt out appearance.
The sorcerer stumbled forwards, his legs feeling heavy and cumbersome as he stared down at the girl at his feet. No older than twenty, her face was a dazzling sight, even in death. Every angle, every curve, every strand of hair was perfect, lacking only the spark of life to make them complete.
A twisted grimace crossed the sorcerer's face as he cast aside the glass, reaching down with both quivering hands to touch the girl's face. His eyes narrowed, his will projecting out through every inch of his frame, casting over the corpse of the girl...
At first, it seemed as though nothing had changed... and then the iris flexed on her right eye, dilating her pupil. Shortly after, her left eye followed suit. Though her face remained cold and expressionless, her eyes rolled up in their sockets, their gaze fixing unflinchingly on the sorcerer.
With a motion containing neither grace nor splendour, the girl's body slowly lurched upwards, willed on by the sorcerer. He let out a short gasp as he felt the connection in his mind... the amber spirits beginning to take full effect.
He reached forward to touch her shoulder, and she lurched forwards, her head lolling forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. Gritting his teeth, the sorcerer brought her back into a standing position, turning her to face him.
The Blood still caked on her lips and cheek, combined with the haunting beauty that still lingered on her dazzling features and the unblinking stare she cast upon him sent a shiver down the sorcerer's spine. He took a step back, exerting the full force of his will upon the other corpses, each one in turn rising to its feet.
They were all dressed the same, their garments differing only in size to accommodate for the different shapes of their torso's. The same dirty white dresses, the same black corsets... the same lifeless faces all sending their gaze boring into the sorcerer's soul.
In the corner of the room, the music box began to turn, tinkling out it's slow tune.
The girls began to dance.
The motion would have been sickening to even the stoniest of men, the limp limbs of the corpses swinging to the invisible strings of the sorcerous puppeteer, but he found it curiously beautiful... and cataclysmically frustrating.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter how deeply he reached, he couldn't recreate the elegance of their motion. The soul of their dance had been taken along with their essence, and tears began to fill the man's eyes as a fiery rage gripped his heart.
He threw himself forwards, seizing one of the ice-cold hands of the girls. His other hand gripped their waist and he pulled them into a danse macabre. The hot, salty tears streamed down his cheeks as he twirled their limp bodies, trying to ignore the cold indifference of their eyes as they peered at him.
With a cry of helplessness, he released the girls, drawing his will back from their limbs and into himself. He sobbed quietly for a moment, until something amiss became apparent in his mind's eye. Returning his gaze to the beautiful corpses, he felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw them all still standing - still staring at him.
"No..." he breathed, disbelief evident in his syllable. In a movement totally independent of his spirit, the girls turned to each other, their fingers curling one finger at a time into a claw-like shape, digging into the fabric of their sleeves. In moments, the hand-stitched dresses were in tatters, with the dead girls raising the ribbons of silk to their foreheads, tying them in blindfolds.
The sorcerer remained in his kneeling position as the girls began to sway... back and forth... back and forth... In a melee of limbs they spun like tops around the room, colliding with each other and spinning off in new directions, blind to their own actions.
Panic rising in his blood, the sorcerer reached out again with his will, trying to stop the madness, trying to control the girls - but it was as if they didn't exist in his world anymore, his will powerless to stop their motion.
The music box had stopped spinning, but still the music played on, rising in volume as the tempo increased, the dead faces of the women drawing ever closer to the sorcerer.
"No! Stop!" His voice was desperate as he shrank back into his chair, fearful of the quartet of dead beauties who danced before him, every moment drawing nearer.
In a final act of fear and adrenalin, the man rose from his chair and lunged at the nearest girl...
As if tugged by an unseen rope, she jerked out of the way, the sorcerer tumbling to the floor. He scrambled back up, pain wracking his body as he looked up...
The girls had stopped dancing. Surrounding him on every side, their white faces were a mere breath away from his.
Frozen to the spot, the man could only watch while they reached up as one, tugging the blindfolds from their eyes.
The sorcerer gazed into their lifeless pupils - and saw himself reflected within, trapped inside their punishing glare.
Hopelessness drowned the last of his sanity beneath a wave of guilty fear, and he began to laugh, sinking to his knees under their gaze. The laughter grew and grew, and one by one the girls crashed to the floor, all trace of animation gone, till only the first one remained, standing over the broken sorcerer.
Her eyes watched as the sorcerer's heart stopped beating.
With darkness consuming his vision, the last thing he saw was her pale, beautiful face, silhouetted by the candles forming a ring of dim light around her head...
He slumped at her feet. Dead.
With an inelegant thud, the girl toppled backwards to lay with her sisters.
And at the other end of the room, the fire finally spluttered into darkness.
It was cold. Very cold.
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Feedback would be greatly appreciated, as well as if you think I should post any more... (For you more geeky types out there, other subjects I've written about in the past include Assassinations, Cults, Team Fortress, All manner of Fantasy stories, the Slender Man, Sci-Fi, and enigmatic figures who quietly keep the world spinning [http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/234/f/e/Umbrella_Man__Viva_la_Vida_by_Rythmear.jpg].)
As well as feedback, I'm interested to see if you fine folks enjoy my writing enough to want me to post more of it. I do also write story requests, so if you like this piece and there's an idea bobbing around in your head that you really wish could be written but don't have the time or patience to do it yourself, send me a private message and I'll be happy to mull it over.
In the meantime however, here is one of my stories entitled 'The Roadkill Foxtrot' (so named after a cabaret performance my theatre company performed a year or so ago.) A few photos of the event can be seen here: One [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610801_4918981.jpg] Two [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610802_5603260.jpg] Three [http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y101/Rythmear/n816239164_1610803_7482282.jpg]
Warning: This story is a little dark, so if you're looking for a happy ending, turn back now.
***************************************************************************
It was cold. Very cold. The pale light of overhead candles illuminated the many bizarre objects that were scattered about on the floor of the room. The only remaining source of heat was the wood fire that lay dying slowly in the hearth, casting what rays of warmth it had upon the exposed ankles of the sorcerer.
He sighed and looked down at his clothes, once splendid and formal, now ragged and unclean. He glanced at the half empty bottle of spirits beside him, a mere flex of his focus causing it to rise from the chair's arm and pour the amber liquid into the glass in his pale fingers.
With the bottle now empty, he released it from his mind's grip, the container plummeting suddenly to the floor and shattering on impact. Ignoring the spray of glass, the sorcerer nonchalantly raised the glass to his parched lips and poured the entire contents down his throat, swallowing it in several gulps.
A groan rumbled from his limbs as he hauled himself to his feet, turning his back on the dwindling flame.
Though his eyes were now bathed in pools of shadow, the whites were still visible, scanning the corpses that lay sprawled in the candle-light behind him. Their skin, devoid of blood, had become a pale white - and the mascara that once had accentuated their breath-taking features had smeared and sunk in around their eyes, giving them a burnt out appearance.
The sorcerer stumbled forwards, his legs feeling heavy and cumbersome as he stared down at the girl at his feet. No older than twenty, her face was a dazzling sight, even in death. Every angle, every curve, every strand of hair was perfect, lacking only the spark of life to make them complete.
A twisted grimace crossed the sorcerer's face as he cast aside the glass, reaching down with both quivering hands to touch the girl's face. His eyes narrowed, his will projecting out through every inch of his frame, casting over the corpse of the girl...
At first, it seemed as though nothing had changed... and then the iris flexed on her right eye, dilating her pupil. Shortly after, her left eye followed suit. Though her face remained cold and expressionless, her eyes rolled up in their sockets, their gaze fixing unflinchingly on the sorcerer.
With a motion containing neither grace nor splendour, the girl's body slowly lurched upwards, willed on by the sorcerer. He let out a short gasp as he felt the connection in his mind... the amber spirits beginning to take full effect.
He reached forward to touch her shoulder, and she lurched forwards, her head lolling forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. Gritting his teeth, the sorcerer brought her back into a standing position, turning her to face him.
The Blood still caked on her lips and cheek, combined with the haunting beauty that still lingered on her dazzling features and the unblinking stare she cast upon him sent a shiver down the sorcerer's spine. He took a step back, exerting the full force of his will upon the other corpses, each one in turn rising to its feet.
They were all dressed the same, their garments differing only in size to accommodate for the different shapes of their torso's. The same dirty white dresses, the same black corsets... the same lifeless faces all sending their gaze boring into the sorcerer's soul.
In the corner of the room, the music box began to turn, tinkling out it's slow tune.
The girls began to dance.
The motion would have been sickening to even the stoniest of men, the limp limbs of the corpses swinging to the invisible strings of the sorcerous puppeteer, but he found it curiously beautiful... and cataclysmically frustrating.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter how deeply he reached, he couldn't recreate the elegance of their motion. The soul of their dance had been taken along with their essence, and tears began to fill the man's eyes as a fiery rage gripped his heart.
He threw himself forwards, seizing one of the ice-cold hands of the girls. His other hand gripped their waist and he pulled them into a danse macabre. The hot, salty tears streamed down his cheeks as he twirled their limp bodies, trying to ignore the cold indifference of their eyes as they peered at him.
With a cry of helplessness, he released the girls, drawing his will back from their limbs and into himself. He sobbed quietly for a moment, until something amiss became apparent in his mind's eye. Returning his gaze to the beautiful corpses, he felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw them all still standing - still staring at him.
"No..." he breathed, disbelief evident in his syllable. In a movement totally independent of his spirit, the girls turned to each other, their fingers curling one finger at a time into a claw-like shape, digging into the fabric of their sleeves. In moments, the hand-stitched dresses were in tatters, with the dead girls raising the ribbons of silk to their foreheads, tying them in blindfolds.
The sorcerer remained in his kneeling position as the girls began to sway... back and forth... back and forth... In a melee of limbs they spun like tops around the room, colliding with each other and spinning off in new directions, blind to their own actions.
Panic rising in his blood, the sorcerer reached out again with his will, trying to stop the madness, trying to control the girls - but it was as if they didn't exist in his world anymore, his will powerless to stop their motion.
The music box had stopped spinning, but still the music played on, rising in volume as the tempo increased, the dead faces of the women drawing ever closer to the sorcerer.
"No! Stop!" His voice was desperate as he shrank back into his chair, fearful of the quartet of dead beauties who danced before him, every moment drawing nearer.
In a final act of fear and adrenalin, the man rose from his chair and lunged at the nearest girl...
As if tugged by an unseen rope, she jerked out of the way, the sorcerer tumbling to the floor. He scrambled back up, pain wracking his body as he looked up...
The girls had stopped dancing. Surrounding him on every side, their white faces were a mere breath away from his.
Frozen to the spot, the man could only watch while they reached up as one, tugging the blindfolds from their eyes.
The sorcerer gazed into their lifeless pupils - and saw himself reflected within, trapped inside their punishing glare.
Hopelessness drowned the last of his sanity beneath a wave of guilty fear, and he began to laugh, sinking to his knees under their gaze. The laughter grew and grew, and one by one the girls crashed to the floor, all trace of animation gone, till only the first one remained, standing over the broken sorcerer.
Her eyes watched as the sorcerer's heart stopped beating.
With darkness consuming his vision, the last thing he saw was her pale, beautiful face, silhouetted by the candles forming a ring of dim light around her head...
He slumped at her feet. Dead.
With an inelegant thud, the girl toppled backwards to lay with her sisters.
And at the other end of the room, the fire finally spluttered into darkness.
It was cold. Very cold.
***************************************************************************
Feedback would be greatly appreciated, as well as if you think I should post any more... (For you more geeky types out there, other subjects I've written about in the past include Assassinations, Cults, Team Fortress, All manner of Fantasy stories, the Slender Man, Sci-Fi, and enigmatic figures who quietly keep the world spinning [http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/234/f/e/Umbrella_Man__Viva_la_Vida_by_Rythmear.jpg].)
