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first excerpt
Nov. 1st, 2011 10:35 pm“You do not know me.” So spoke now the tattered man. In his flesh & face he bore strange recesses, frays in the flesh, ragged holes that passed through him. His cloak of dark material hung over him, outsized and could conceal him wholly. “I have no name for I am what is nameless. Call m by what I do -I am King of Moths & ten times defeated but finally victorious.” His voice rasped low, maddeningly so – a spare humming whipser – a growl. Now he stood & came between the other guests and the fire i& the shadows of the room in the Rouse of Bricks grew deep. Through him passed rays of light, through his hollow compromised flesh.
“Before this.” He gestured grandly, postured and indicated not the room nor the gathering – something far greater, more. “Me.” He concluded with a long wheeze.
“When light came we hated it. We-I-We hated – first thought – that was it – first Thing of We o I of We was hate. You don't know.” Sneering contempt, the gathering shifted as one – unsettled. “You can't know. It cut me – everywhere at once- the Light & then Hate. You don't. You don't know. It was so cruel – and why? Why? Why? Why! I want to be told!” Shouting, shouting not from his mouth, or from his mouth alone, but all the ragged holes in him singing out together, grotesque harmony, booming, he grew and shadowed the flame, and then subsided, whispering: “I swallowed it all. All of it, swallowed. The light, the hate all of it & do you know? It cut me!” Raging again, tidal. “Do you know why? The light wouldn't let me be, it made me – I -We- Us be. Who wants it? We didn't don't. I don't.”
“So I swallowed it up. You think of size but you don't know. I ate every speck of it and for my trouble it burst us apart again and again.” Here he indicated his wounds. One by one, screaming again. “It got free & broke me apart do you know? Hate? You don't.”
“o what I did we-us-I did- I looked and looked & found shadows- there are so many shadows & I said, we-I-us said – Cast them over.” Here in a deft movement he donned his hood, spread his cloak annd covered his wounds plunging the room into darkness, utter blackness. When he spoke again they could feel, all of them could, that he stood at their backs, whispering in their ears. “I have a plan. It can't be stopped- blot out the light. Cover it up. A moth. A moth is called to the light- enough moths – no light- that's it. I'll win- I-we-us we'll win, when there's enough all on the way coming soon – coming soon.”
“Will you tell us more? Who are you Moths?” A welcome interruption. No one knew who asked, but all the guests, save the King of Moths perhaps was sorry that a question was asked. Now he would continue.
“Dreams & Nightmares- darkening clouds, all iron, black oceans, black oceans, hands. Distance. Weight. Distance.” He was approaching hysteria, a wry, grim madness. “Time.” This last with a terrible snicker. “Time will tear it down.”
“Cold. Old will kill it dead. None alive none alive none alive.” He spoke again in terrible chorus, “None to see me – I – we- us victorious. Suits me fine- no eyes no light End, the end End. End.” And with that he bolted to his place in the corner by the door and cast himself, frenzied, into his chair. Silence.
The firelight was too long returning, the shadows indelible and inexplicably lingering. The Woman of the House of Bricks rose and spoke. “I am not glad that you have told us this, King of Moths, but I am sorry for your pain, I am sorry for you King of Moths.” She spoke but the King of Moths made no reply. “But perhaps we should retire before another story is told. I've seen that there are rooms here in the house. Can there be one for all of us? I've made a dinner as well. With what I could find here. I would like to share if you will share with me.
The King of Moths said nothing more.
“Before this.” He gestured grandly, postured and indicated not the room nor the gathering – something far greater, more. “Me.” He concluded with a long wheeze.
“When light came we hated it. We-I-We hated – first thought – that was it – first Thing of We o I of We was hate. You don't know.” Sneering contempt, the gathering shifted as one – unsettled. “You can't know. It cut me – everywhere at once- the Light & then Hate. You don't. You don't know. It was so cruel – and why? Why? Why? Why! I want to be told!” Shouting, shouting not from his mouth, or from his mouth alone, but all the ragged holes in him singing out together, grotesque harmony, booming, he grew and shadowed the flame, and then subsided, whispering: “I swallowed it all. All of it, swallowed. The light, the hate all of it & do you know? It cut me!” Raging again, tidal. “Do you know why? The light wouldn't let me be, it made me – I -We- Us be. Who wants it? We didn't don't. I don't.”
“So I swallowed it up. You think of size but you don't know. I ate every speck of it and for my trouble it burst us apart again and again.” Here he indicated his wounds. One by one, screaming again. “It got free & broke me apart do you know? Hate? You don't.”
“o what I did we-us-I did- I looked and looked & found shadows- there are so many shadows & I said, we-I-us said – Cast them over.” Here in a deft movement he donned his hood, spread his cloak annd covered his wounds plunging the room into darkness, utter blackness. When he spoke again they could feel, all of them could, that he stood at their backs, whispering in their ears. “I have a plan. It can't be stopped- blot out the light. Cover it up. A moth. A moth is called to the light- enough moths – no light- that's it. I'll win- I-we-us we'll win, when there's enough all on the way coming soon – coming soon.”
“Will you tell us more? Who are you Moths?” A welcome interruption. No one knew who asked, but all the guests, save the King of Moths perhaps was sorry that a question was asked. Now he would continue.
“Dreams & Nightmares- darkening clouds, all iron, black oceans, black oceans, hands. Distance. Weight. Distance.” He was approaching hysteria, a wry, grim madness. “Time.” This last with a terrible snicker. “Time will tear it down.”
“Cold. Old will kill it dead. None alive none alive none alive.” He spoke again in terrible chorus, “None to see me – I – we- us victorious. Suits me fine- no eyes no light End, the end End. End.” And with that he bolted to his place in the corner by the door and cast himself, frenzied, into his chair. Silence.
The firelight was too long returning, the shadows indelible and inexplicably lingering. The Woman of the House of Bricks rose and spoke. “I am not glad that you have told us this, King of Moths, but I am sorry for your pain, I am sorry for you King of Moths.” She spoke but the King of Moths made no reply. “But perhaps we should retire before another story is told. I've seen that there are rooms here in the house. Can there be one for all of us? I've made a dinner as well. With what I could find here. I would like to share if you will share with me.
The King of Moths said nothing more.
