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> New Uber Short Story, Something to waste time between projects
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urian 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 11:35 AM
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A man stands over an empty iron barrel in an abandoned warehouse. On his back is a satchel and in his hand is a box with just two matches remaining.
He opens the satchel and produces, one at a time, different masks. One that looks like a devil he throws into the barrel. One like an angel is next; a poet, a writer, an artist, a politician, a heretic, a heathen, a pagan, a priest, a monster and a warrior all go into the barrel. The last few, he hesitates...reluctantly throwing lover into the barrel and placing the mask of husband into it last.
He sighs heavily and ,slowly, pulls a match from the box, striking it as he does. Before he has a chance to doubt, he tosses the match into the barrel and watches as the masks begin to burn. Some melt, some evaporate, a few take painfully long to disappear.
As he's watching this, he reaches up to his hair line and jaw bone and begins to pull the last mask loose. His scream of pain becomes muffled then muted as veins burst and it breaks free.
The man stands there holding it for a moment. With a blank face he tosses the mask into the fire and chuckles inwardly saying:"in being everything to everyone you become nothing to yourself."
The faceless man stands in front of the fire with no ears to hear or be lied to, no eyes to see or be deceived, no mouth to speak with or lie with and no nose to smell the beauty and rot of this world. He only feels the warmth of the fire.
After an eternity, he turns and makes his way out of town.
The dawn is breaking as he crests the mountain above the valley town of his youth. Everyone and everything he's ever known is down there. Still , the faceless man strikes the last match and ponders whether to set his world ablaze in hope of a new beginning or to let it burn out and wander off into the abyss.
The match burns as he thinks to himself:"Welcome to ground zero."
He feels the flame getting closer to his finger tips and knows he must decide before it is too late.
Turning away from his childhood home, his memories and life he flicks the match behind him and walks away as the sun breaks free from the horizon.
Whether it's the heat from the burning town or the warmth from the sun on his back, he doesn't know.
He tells himself:" My task is done. If the town burns and the past destroyed, fine. If it survives and forgets me, fine. The deed is done."
Walking away in darkness and silence, the faceless man proceeds into the unknown future without the things that have brought him comfort for many years; his anchors, his safety, his masks. and he prefers it that way.



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'Dying for being different is still better than living as a Sheep'-anon
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TheCarolinaScotsman 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 12:20 PM
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Haunting.


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Aaediwen 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 05:19 PM
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quite that. Yet we do all tend to wear those masks don't we.


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urian 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 06:20 PM
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Thanks both..
and , yes, we all do..or tend to.
The story is one man being tired of wearing the masks he's been given and collected...tired of being everythign to everyone but nothing to himself..
One day I'll learn to write without putting any of my soul into it. unsure.gif
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Aaediwen 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 10:17 PM
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The day you write without soul, is the day you stop writing all together.
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urian 
Posted: 11-Sep-2004, 10:20 PM
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Very true, my friend. Point taken to heart.
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celtica 
Posted: 12-Sep-2004, 02:03 AM
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QUOTE (Aaediwen @ 12-Sep-2004, 05:17 AM)
The day you write without soul, is the day you stop writing all together.

I should have said that... smile.gif

The desire to write really come from the soul, the soul tired from wearing masks, that's why you can't resist to it...and the emotions you can put in your writings and share with your readers come directly from the soul too.
Please keep writing this way, it's so intense !



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Que restera-t-il de notre sang mêlé au sel, sans trace dans les mémoires ? Une ultime navigation, trompeuse. Et des souvenirs, illuminés d'embruns. Mais condamnés au silence de la mer... Loïc Finaz.
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TheCarolinaScotsman 
Posted: 12-Sep-2004, 10:58 AM
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To write with soul is to communicate with humanity everywhere at the most basic level. It's not merely the swapping of ideas, but is the exchange of emotions dressed as words. You're good at it Michael, don't stop.
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greenldydragon 
Posted: 12-Sep-2004, 12:05 PM
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I have to agree with what everyone has said. Don't stop writing with your soul.


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May dragons bring you wealth
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May female dragons grant you inner power
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May Ti'amat effect the changes you command
May Ishtar grant you Dragon Power
May Ishtar grant you Dragon Power
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irishscotty 
  Posted: 12-Sep-2004, 03:20 PM
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QUOTE (urian @ 11-Sep-2004, 11:35 AM)
A man stands over an empty iron barrel in an abandoned warehouse. On his back is a satchel and in his hand is a box with just two matches remaining.
He opens the satchel and produces, one at a time, different masks. One that looks like a devil he throws into the barrel. One like an angel is next; a poet, a writer, an artist, a politician, a heretic, a heathen, a pagan, a priest, a monster and a warrior all go into the barrel. The last few, he hesitates...reluctantly throwing lover into the barrel and placing the mask of husband into it last.
    He sighs heavily and ,slowly, pulls a match from the box, striking it as he does. Before he has a chance to doubt, he tosses the match into the barrel and watches as the masks begin to burn. Some melt, some evaporate, a few take painfully long to disappear.
    As he's watching this, he reaches up to his hair line and jaw bone and begins to pull the last mask loose. His scream of pain becomes muffled then muted as veins burst and it breaks free.
    The man stands there holding it for a moment. With a blank face he tosses the mask into the fire and chuckles inwardly saying:"in being everything to everyone you become nothing to yourself."
    The faceless man stands in front of the fire with no ears to hear or be lied to, no eyes to see or be deceived, no mouth to speak with or lie with and no nose to smell the beauty and rot of this world. He only feels the warmth of the fire.
After an eternity, he turns and makes his way out of town.
    The dawn is breaking as he crests the mountain above the valley town of his youth. Everyone and everything he's ever known is down there. Still , the faceless man strikes the last match and ponders whether to set his world ablaze in hope of a new beginning or to let it burn out and wander off into the abyss.
    The match burns as he thinks to himself:"Welcome to ground zero."
    He feels the flame getting closer to his finger tips and knows he must decide before it is too late.
    Turning away from his childhood home, his memories and life he flicks the match behind him and walks away as the sun breaks free from the horizon.
    Whether it's the heat from the burning town or the warmth from the sun on his back, he doesn't know.
He tells himself:" My task is done. If the town burns and the past destroyed, fine. If it survives and forgets me, fine. The deed is done."
    Walking away in darkness and silence, the faceless man proceeds into the unknown future without the things that have brought him comfort for many years; his anchors, his safety, his masks. and he prefers it that way.

biggrin.gif quite a good story me lad. thumbs_up.gif


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so let the highest power come to thy!!!
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Haldur 
Posted: 04-Dec-2004, 06:05 PM
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Very gripping, intense, and dark! I like it...I'm gonna read it again. The funny thing is, I feel that way sometimes, you know? In everyday life. We all wear different masks, somehow determining our own fate, lashing out in unhealthy ways. The secret is that expression, our sense of humor, sense of self, and dreams come first and thus keep us from harming ourselves and others.


--------------------
Haldr, Traveller of the Great Forest

"After all is said and done, a lot more will be said than done."

- Unknown

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