The Conqueror

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3

Static screech killing his ears krrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkh. Killing his ears till he. Weep. I— Death’s breathunbearable. The critterycrick he can‘t resist. Usurperable insufferable. Staticscreech killingaswift cover your ears to the Sirenslied. By the sea the sirensea a shriek.

Pains me torturely. No not like what you think. No fan of vaudeville just frantic. Erratic frenetic. Operas—no. Boredom striking the. No theatremanartist. Beautiful! Beautiful! An exposition of the human soul. A marvel a gem. Wailed them soulenlightenedpeuple. More to life than. Ignorante, Moshure breathed below his lips. Then sneered. Moshure to the cavemen. Moshure to the cavemen. Always like that. Moshure the enlightened knowall elegantly voiced, Art is the message from soul to soul, then the cavemen primitivepipers savagely croaked, Grahgrahgrah. The shriek now calmed to an unshriek and whistled the train with the steam. The carriage shaking the tracks uneased. He longed for music, a sound to soothe his fatigued ears. Like the shore by the sea of Rabov—that night, the sound of the waves their hearts throbbing, a chorus of angelsfromheaven singing.

It was love when he kissed her by the sea that night lit by the moon with no other sound but the crashing waves the sand touching their feet the world without. He felt it though he never knew. Merely a second a fleeting memory a haze. He squeezed her hand and whispered Yes— and her shadowy figure that faint silhouette brought feelings inexplicable yet true. And made him smile and forget and. I will— and whispered again. Siren’s song, Sirenslied, music to his ears, entice him with her. That night faded that night ended. His skin touching hers then parted. I will— then tears streamed his cheeks and brooked from the pearls that were his eyes. I will— the tears wailed.

He watched the blazing fire fade into a mere flicker, and finally, disappear. He listened as the angry shouts of the crazed mob melt in the silence of the night—overriden to become faint murmurs—into nothing. All into nothing.

Isn’t he a lovely boy, his mother would remark to her guests in the livingroom and they would smile, out of niceness perhaps. Then continue their gossips.

In the fall when the air was crisp, there won‘t be his mother but his sister Natasha sitting in the couch with her friends and they’ll be teasing him and he will be happy. For she was there, ever so close.

What a nice smile you have, she told him when they first met, and he blushed, and began dreaming of her from then on.

Do you like it here, he asked her once that same fall, gathering all the courage he has, phrasing his thoughts into words. They were a new family, which was rare in Charnost. Seldom do people come. Often do they leave.

Skipping, those tiny feet. Gracefully gliding, those little angels. Always on a hurry, floating in the air.

“Here—we found it here,” the voice quivered, suppressing a cry.

“You've been in the woods the whole time,” one of the old men condemned her.

“We we're just playing, sir.” She was on the verge of tears.

The old men, firm and unyielding, declared to them who were gathered, “It was a crime they did—a capital one. And such crime requires a punishment as great.”

Aleksi sneered. They know nothing.

“He’s one lucky bastard, I might say,” grunted the imbecile.

“I’m quite impressed of the boy, I must admit. I‘d commend him for that.”

Both men were now laughing. Aleksi glared at them intently.

“And a proud one, eh? He’ll be hung for sure. He‘ll be hung for such boastfulness.”

He felt his stomach turn.