Slowly Healing Wounds

"And were you here tomorrow, I'd say goodbye1

suffer through lonely nights, oh no, I'll never cry2

and were you here tomorrow, I'd say goodbye3

with a friendly smile, I'd simply sing a lie"4

Arianne paced back and forth. Her left hand angrily clasped her right wrist as her tattered skirt swept the ground. It slapped the floor, seeming to copy the wearer's mood. Arianne tried again. "And were you here..." With a sob she collapsed on the floor; her head against the mildewed wall. A maddening drip of water plopped from the broken sewer pipe above. It mocked Arianne, as it insidiously dripped contaminated water for every tear she spilt. "And were..." She knew the words, she knew the music. She knew what it felt like to be swept up in an imaginary world where only the song floated around you. But not now. And maybe never again. "My voice, my beautiful voice! Has it finally gone?" Arianne tried to whisper these words, but they only echoed in her head. Nowhere else.5

She scrubbed her bowl in a semi-clear puddle of water. Her cot  rested against the wall; its torn coverlet folded in an attempt at homeliness. "Three years," Arianne thought, "Three long, lonesome years." By now she'd gotten used to no company, and even though she longed for a bright sunny day warm as the end of spring, she could survive. The only thing she missed was her voice. And her beauty. In three years with no charms made by human hands, she had turned into a monster. Aged and brittle, with calloused hands and skin as rough as bark. Her eyes were still sharp, but now instead of making her look clever, they made her sinister. Her hair was a faded dark brown; her beautiful raven's hair vanished in the smoky light. Up there three years was a short time. Down here it was a hundred. But it didn't matter, no one saw her like this. Even if they did, who would recognize Arianne now?6

Arthur hummed to himself, and wondered if he was dreaming. He must be. No other reason would compel him to walk down such a mucky sewer. "Humans surely are the most primitive of animals, no matter how we try to hide it." he pompously drolled to himself. Rough limestone walls, rusty ladders, mildew, and that smell. Such a terrible smell that the foulest pig would run in the opposite direction. To distract himself from such awful thoughts (and the awful surroundings) he started humming to himself. 7

"And were you here tomorrow, I'd say goodbye..." 8

In the distance, Arianne heard. She continued with what she was doing, but smiled one last, bitter smile to herself.9

Arthur kept walking forward. The whole area he was hurrying through ("And for what reason?!" Arthur mused) reminded him of an old story he had loved as a little child. In it a young dancer, suddenly paralyzed, retreats to the sewer. She remained there, aging into an old, wizened crone. Her beauty, the temporary perfection that led millions to love her, gone. No one heard from her ever again, and eventually they all forgot. Only one man, old and broken, remembered her. The Mourner. And all he ever did was sit in the shadows, remembering the once-young dancer; crying for what was and what will be. Arthur had loved that story when he was little. But now all he thought of it was useless sentimental drivel. Arthur sped forward. Something was telling him to hurry up. Maybe the Mourner from behind the crumbling walls. "Hah!" Arthur laughed to himself.10

"Arthur." Her last words ever spoken, and the most beautiful. They spun, dancing around in the air; spiraling on the almost visible currents. Arianne's voice hung on for a few seconds longer, but then pulled itself into her lifeless body. With accusing and loving eyes, she stared at Arthur. "How could you forgot me?" her face demanded. He ran forward. He grasped her still-warm body and said what should have been said earlier. Like all humans; procrastinating until it is too late. Arianne's shell hung rigid between Arthur's arms and the wall. The rusted sword hilt jabbed into Arthur's stomach; impaled Arianne's and ran through the wall. But Arthur, being the typical descendant from the apes, wasn't sad for long. He adapted to the thought of him probably causing this suicide, and it fed his ego.11

Through the wall. How easy. For some reason, when Arthur let go of the unfortunate Arianne, the wall melted into putty. And suspended there: right over Arthur's heart, was the most beautiful lily he had ever seen. So Arthur grabbed the lily, fascinated by its perfect shape. As he clasped the soft petals in his hand, he fell through the wall and into a valley. Arthur could have sworn he saw a horned man in the corner of his vision as he passed through, but it was probably just more nonsense fantasy. So off Arthur went, marching down the valley, and forgetting all about Arianne. For now.12

An explosion of pain and noise. Arthur struggled through the castle hall as drunken Germans brawled around him. "So my mind likes the 13

Medieval Germany era, huh?" Arthur smirked to himself. "When will I wake up from this nightmare?" Just then a particularly brawny and drunk man punched Arthur across his whole left side of his face.14

"You poor, poor man! What were you thinking? Everyone in the whole countryside knows every last Sunday of the month all these men come together and have a big party! Everyone knows they end up drunk and a few end up dead! What were you thinking? You're obviously not that type of man who drinks and fights long into the night!" a stunning woman in a heavy blue damask gown smiled down at him. She practically glowed; her hair was the most glorious black and the silver sequins on her dress glinted whenever she even slightly moved. Her lips were thick and bright red; her face pale but rosy and her body delicately strong. "Arianne?" Arthur mumbled, not believing what he saw.15

"Oh no, silly. I'm Else. Daughter to King Bastian, and not much else. A pun, if you will." she giggled in a childish yet endearing way and Arthur knew. It was Arianne, when he first met her. Before he ruined her.16

"Well, thank you...Else. I'm not sure how I got here, but I think I need to leave soon." In his thoughts he added, "Even if I don't want too.."17

"Oh, don't worry. Everyone leaves. Well, almost everyone."18

"And those that don't?"19

"Are trapped."20

"But why?"21

"Because of people like you."22

"What do you mean, woman?!"23

"Those selfish people like you who murder for pleasure and destroy a person's soul, just so they can be like you...soulless!"24

Suddenly Else lunged forward and pushed Arthur through the window he was leaning on. He fell through the narrow tower window. In a panic, he flailed his arms, trying to stop, or at least slow down. The last thing he heard before he hit the ground was a low, heart-breaking moan. Arianne.25

A drab, brown bird spiraled into the setting sun. It keened a yearning cry and was joined by another ungainly bird. Quickly they flew higher and higher, in fast spiraling patterns. Just as the sun set they opened their huge wings. A flash of light: orange, red, yellow and violet on the wings of the two Firebirds. They plunged into the trees, and were hidden by the dark forest. Arthur watched on a hill and wept; he didn't know why, but it was so beautiful and tragic. He sat in a stupor on top of a light-gray rock and sighed. Wind moaned through ash, oak, and birch trees. Then, out of the gloom, a figure appeared. He was dressed in simple brown slacks and his torso was covered by a dark-green cloak. He had antler's horns on his head and a belt full of keys. The largest, bent and rusted, was stained blood-red.26

"Arthur, do you know why you're here?"27

"Some happy, existentialist quest where I learn many wonderful things about myself and human kind?" Arthur smirked.28

"Not exactly." The man waved and a creaky gate appeared. It swung open in a draft of non-existent wind and seemed to say Arthur's name.29

"Ooo, the perfect gate to the perfect haunted house." Arthur taunted.30

"Exactly." the horned man grinned.31

Arthur wandered through the hallways and decided that this continual moving from place to place (especially as it wasn't of his own free-will) was horribly annoying. Arthur ducked his head into the last room before the hall opened into a large area and shouted. "Hello? Any nasty goblins and mean little ghosties?" Arthur grinned and moved further into the room. An ashtray with a slowly dying cigarette stood on a badly scratched desk.  "Bet you anything there's a hidden passage." Arthur said to the gloom. "Let's find it, shall we?" A light, airy voice behind him said "Oh, there is."32

"Arianne!"33

"Hello, Arthur. You don't seem to be missing me much."34

"I really am sorry, you know."35

"I know. But I need to kill you anyway."36

Arianne picked Arthur up by the throat and threw him against the bookshelf. He lay there, amidst the broken books and groaned softly, in great pain. Arianne sighed and turned to leave. "Arthur, I'm sorry, but you knew your ego, pride, and selfishness would finally catch up to you didn't you? Well, if you didn't, you do now..."37

He woke up with a sad, simple smile on his lips. One tear slid down his face and hung there, before disappearing wherever tears fly away to. A murky day shone heavily through the sequined dress hung up as a curtain, but the weather doesn't always depict the mood. With a hop he jumped out of bed and ran over to his journal. It lay dejected; cold ashes from his favorite ashtray scattered across the beaten cover. He ripped the latest song from his journal, but then paused to read it one last time. Eyeing the smudged title, "My Nightmare" he laughed and threw it into the wastebasket. On a second thought, he reached in a retrieved a pressed flower. He tucked the lily into his pocket. Then moving out the door and down the stairs, he started to whistle the tune.38

"And were you here tomorrow, I'd say goodbye39

suffer through lonely nights, oh no, I'll never cry40

and were you here tomorrow, I'd say goodbye41

with a friendly smile, I'd simply sing a lie."42