Melancholy Melody

Walking home, late one night, I saw him in the shadows. From behind, I first noticed his curious posture, back curved, head slightly bent and tilted to the left. "Curious", I thought. Who would hold themselves like that? Then I walked halfway around him to get a better look. The mystery was elucidated. He was resting his face on a beautiful black violin, cheek pressed against the soft polished wood, eyes closed, as if this was the most comfortable position for him. He had not even heard me, my footsteps, the rustling of my coat, let alone a single breath escaping my lips. Why is that?

Suddenly, he opened his eyes. There. A pair of beautiful brown eyes to match the beautiful thick brown hair that ran to his shoulders, like a waterfall. Still he did not see me. Staring straight ahead, he gently lifted the bow and put it on the strings of the intrument. Then, he started to play. How can I describe what I heard? I could tell you it was sad. Very sad. It made my heart break, brought back all the painful memories of my life, as if by playing his music, he was evoking the past. The sorrowful melody brought tears to my eyes. Like little droplets of rain, they slowly ran down my face. And still, he did not see me. Seeming as if in a trance, transfixed by the music, he continued his somber violin solo, brushing the bow against every string, hitting the perfect note every time, with an unnatural speed and agility. I had never witnessed any living being playing the violin with such skill as he had. I was amazed and yet afraid. Was this normal? Still, I found myself glued to the spot. I dared not move, for fear of missing but one note. I dared not utter one word, for fear I would interrupt his little piece and put an end to this exquisite yet mourful song.

Looking at his face again, I noticed something peculiar. He seemed completely at peace. Even though the sadness of this music was tearing up my soul, this moment only seemed to procure him perfect calm and tranquility. Though I was dreading it, the end of the composition was near, I could tell. His bow was striking the chords slower and slower and finally, there was nothing but the silence of the night. My heart ached for more, yet I knew it was time for me to leave. I had errands to take care of, a family to go home to. Oh, but that music! My heart was completely lost in it. I forgot all of the world around me except the violinist, his melancholy melody and I.

La Ballerine Flottante

Je l'ai vue, hier, au theatre
les rideaux rouges se sont ouverts
et elle était là, sur la scène
devant les spectateurs

Immobile, la tête baissée,
yeux fermés, ne disant pas un mot
elle était blanche comme un nuage
aux cheveux foncés comme le ciel de minuit

Tout à coup,
dans cette même position
elle s'éleva lentement dans les airs
flottant sans l'aide de cordes

Puis, elle commenca sa petite danse
ondulant d'un côté à l'autre
avec la grâce d'un cygne
ses mouvements fluides et délicats

Je ne peux pas oublier cette ballerine flottante
si belle comme une fée
à l'air si triste et innocent
Ondoyant dans l'espace vide

Je ne voyait pas de larmes
mais je savais qu'elle pleurait
elle, qui semblait si seule
devant cette multitude de gens

Elle paraîssait perdue dans ce moment
continuant sa danse
sans un pied sur le sol
éxécutant ses parfaites pirouettes

Finalement, elle pris sa descente
comme un papillon qui se pose sur une fleur
et se pencha, les rideaux se fermant
à l'applaudissement de la foule.

Undying Apollo

He was a vision to my eyes. I cannot lie. This being dazzled me. He struck my attention like no one ever had. I'd never glimpsed anyone such as he. Let me describe him to you and you'll understand.

Of the darkness, he was. Oh, yes, such a thing cannot be denied. It was so obvious. Yet, what amazed me was that he seemed so removed from it. An inner light seemed to emanate from every pore of his porcelain white skin. Flawless. No lines, no wrinkles to attest to the passing of time. How I longed to touch his face and feel the smoothness for myself. Would it crack and crumble under the pressure of my fingers like an ancient statue? I doubted it.

What about his hair, you ask? Like spun gold, it was, each strand shinning brighter than the sun. Such a rich vibrant color. Unlike any mane I'd seen before or ,perhaps, will ever see again. As the light of the street lamps hit it, the hues seemed to change, alternating between lighter and darker shades or blonde. A perfect compliment to his luminous skin.

A general belief is that eyes are windows to the soul. In this case, I could not see it. He seemed to lock me out from his inner sanctum. Yet, from his cool blue eyes and his piercing gaze, I could tell he'd been through many trials and tribulations. He appeared slightly weary, or was it bored? Perhaps, this being was just looking for a new adventure. But, as I'd mentionned, the windows were open, yet I could not get a clear glimpse at what was inside.

Now, for his lips. They were not small, yet they were not full either. As if he read my mind, he parted them slightly, briefly revealing the razor sharp canines. Like little ivory daggers they were, lethal yet hidden. His little deadly secret only revealed to others in their final moments.

As he stood there watching me watching him, I finally realised how tall he was. He towered over me! For a moment, intimidation flooded my emotions, yet I gathered myself to make more observations on this seemingly divine being. He was wearing black. All black. A black leather coat, a black scarf, black pants, black boots. The only thing that stood out beneath his coat was his white silk shirt, slightly unbuttonned, revealing a little bit of his chest.

Putting all these things together, he appeared to be a god! Beautiful, gorgeous, dazzling,...There are not enough adjectives to describe this divine vampire. But as I pondered on this, he stepped away from the light into the shadows. I lost sight of him. Taking a few steps forward to where he stood, I desperately tried to seek him out, but he was gone. And so ended my encounter with the Undying Apollo.

The End.

The Artist

A canvas, blank, before her. She sat on the wooden stool, staring at the white surface, quietly, pondering, asking herself 'What shall I paint?" She slowly closed her eyes and dove into herself, fell into her soul and searched it, looking for inspiration. Visions of rainbows, mountains, clouds and oceans appeared before her. Visions of innocence and darkness filled her mind. Too many images! She was confused as to what to pick. Without making a selection, she lifted the brush, dipped it into a cobalt blue and gently dabbed some paint onto the surface. She proceeded to add more and more color, choosing shades that appealed to her, blending them together to create gorgeous hues. She had decided that this piece would be totally and utterly from the heart.

Away she went, furiously dipping and brushing. It was a work of passion for her. As she made stroking motions with her arm, a sun, mountains, clouds and lakes appeared beneath the brush as if by magic, as if this act was the most natural labour for her. Skies lit up with all the colors of the spectrum. The water seemed to flow off the canvas. She created a seemingly three dimensional world, that no longer appeared confined to the flat piece of carton. It was real and it was not only an image, it was her soul that was bared on this canvas. It was truly her. The artist, creating a vision of herself, of her world.