 |
|
 |
| Singing by � chibilunacat They were on the beach, holding hands, circled around a bonfire, they were singing. The sand around them was dimpled with many footprints leading here and there. Other than their singing voices you could hear the sound of great waves from the ocean, a wave would crawl up the sand pushing seashells, debris and sometimes horseshoe crabs up out of its depths, it would glitter in the foam and then the water would draw back from the dry sand like a hand from a flame, draging some of the stuff back with it while it tried to cling to the beach, sometimes the new wave would tumble sand over the items burying them, only to be uncovered later, like treasure. The water and the sand seem to constantly fight over their mutual border, sometimes one appears to be winning, then the other, but it all seems to even out, that or the change is so minisculy gradual that no one seems to notice. The yellow grainy sand, so easy to manipulate, like most people. It's gathered in huge amounts because one grain of sand all by itself is meaningless, and small. Gathered together it can seem big, but it can be controlled so easy, the water pushes it around, the wind will sculpt it, time itself has claimed it like its own body, the sands of time. Get it wet and mold it to your likeing, scoop it up and allow it to run through your fingers, sift steadily through and blow in the breeze. Stay around it to much and you'll never get rid of it. So much like so many people. Besides the steady sound of coming and going water, and singing voices is the occasional snap of the burning wood in the fire. A blaze reaching well above their heads, reaching for the tranquil night sky, blazing with nourishment, circled in stones. The people have fed it, they will keep feeding it, it serves their purpose, fire is harder to control, but to some degree it can be done, it's like a puppy, you begin to train it while small, and it will grow into loyalty with proper care. It may protect you. The people have gathered, their hands and their voices are united as one. They are young and old, thin and not so thin, pretty and not so pretty, they are all the same as anyone. Their hair hangs free, their faces are not distorted by make-up, any jewelry is very plain, there for meaning not for looks. They don't even wear watches on their weathered and tanned arms. They are dressed for comfort, not for fashion, some wearing hardly anything at all, housedresses and slouch clothes some may say; the women don't even wear bra's though society may think some of the women to need them. They are free, they are at peace, they sing. Words of another yet uniting language, words not of this world. The serenity is murmered slightly, a group of rowdy vacationing kids stroll up the beach with a loud radio and a couple coolers of beer. They are laughing and joking and just being loud. They come past the people and make their jokes, they kick sand and pull loose blowing hair, some slap bottoms. The singers do not waiver, they do not lose their words or become embarassed, they do not get angry, their pride is unscratched, even so with the children. The rowdy ones start to walk on, finding no fun here, planning to just walk away. They are the type that when gathered give no real regard to beauty, or tranquility. Two beings step from the fire. They are a slightly glowing white for the most part, the insides are a grey color, they stand about four feet tall. Their heads are shaped like fat bottomed tear drops with the point curled under some, their faces consist of rough outlines in black of eyes and mouths, like some face a kid would draw, they are very child like in apearance. They don't have actual hands or feet or fingers, what makes up their rough arms and legs are more like rounded extensions in four places from the main body. They appear to smile. The rowdy group looks rather frightened at the new development. Their delicate and raional minds are having trouble coping. The two beings walk between the people holding hands and make jestures in the air with their right arms. White glowing ropes like beams of light appear and they gather the rowdy people inside them in one move, the people resist, most of them, but it's no use. The beings begin draging them towards the fire, the singing people part on one side to make room still holding hands except for in the break between two of them, their voices are undetered. The beings put the rowdy people, screaming, into the fire, then wait till they are all dead, burnt alive. Then they step back into the fire. A yellowish green aura type light begins to radiate around the fire, it glows brighter then bursts and drifts down in particles onto the singing people. The people glow momentarily and then the light is absorbed into their bodies. Still they sing, louder now that their bellys have had their appetizer. It is tourist season and the people are grouped thick in the area like sand in a desert. When the weather is colder the singers will move some place warmer, like nomads in a way, they follow the food. Sometimes a person comes, looking cast from the world and lonely, they see the beauty in their unity and they cast aside everything and take hands in the circle. They feed on the night, on small parties. They feed the fire and the fire feeds them. They are mutual gods to one another, and they always sing praise. Another group of people are coming down along the beach, a quieter group, an older group. The fire is not picky, and neither are the singers. Everyone must eat. Terra Mae 10/18/2001 |
 |
|
|