Nothing But Snippets

Little Trumpet Boy

The cold welcoming smiles of the stone faces drew him further and further into the halls of the dead. Mausoleums scrape the clouds, grasping the heavens for the souls they hide. The cold marble faces managed to reach for him despite having nothing told hold him with.

It was the words that captured him.

"Such a young face. Perfect for the family. The softness of a child, and the beauty of cherub." The whispers wrapped themselves around him. As they promised love his heart was warmed. A trusting smile painted his face. His legs marched forward to home, and his heart pounded with fear. Each step, reluctant yet eager, carried him towards the towering stone doors of the end.

The voices called him into the depths. His blood ran cold knowing he was gone and his heart burned with love. They were there. The voices, the family, his family. Calling, welcoming, loving.

The stone palace was broken. The fog and gloom of the outside air poured through the crumpled rotunda. The shattered marble covered the floor. The statues all faced the wreckage with tears carved into their faces or the boy with wicked smiles revealing their intentions. In the rubble was a trumpet, clasped by the dead hands of the stone family's child.

He approached, his heart hammering and his ears swimming in the embrace of the commands.

"Take the trumpet; fill our hearts. Feel no pain but erase the joy."

Thousands upon thousands of invisible grasps pulled him into the light and rubble. His hand shook as he reached for the instrument. From anticipation or fear he never knew. As his fingers brushed the cool brass surface his pained, peaceful smile froze in place, he blood turned to ice, his heart died, and his skin became as hard as marble.