Harmonious_Echos

Minozil Brass....the William Tell overture. (I blame Muse's influence)

aerialist, I've already done a clown.

If you had to give up one to keep the other, would you...

Sleep, or eat

My faithful feathered nosegay left me; and on the rainiest nights the Blozorg comes to fondle gorgonzola in the foyer. The smell would have made fetid camels dance the can-can in long underwear...

"I'm sitting on the floor", Harmony thought. "Why am I sitting on the floor?"

Oh, right--she'd dropped the light-wand, tripped over a cobblestone, and narrowly missed cracking her head open on a low ledge on her way down.

Dizzily, she grasped the still-lit wand & heaved herself back up. Unaccustomed to her new weight, she swayed drunkenly & grasped the wall for support. Carefully, she leaned on it, and sat down on the ledge.

She thought a moment, then plucked a few strands of her hair & braided them deftly into a wreath. Stroking it, she whispered a three-strand spell--Sure-foot, light-weight, luck. She broke off the light-weight strand halfway & pulled out the other end to ensure she wouldn't be so light she would float over the ground. She carefully twisted it back on itself to deactivate it, & tucked it in a pocket for later. Never know when you might need to float, after all. The three-strand she wrapped around her neck and activated with a Minor Wyrding knot.

Steady on her feet now, she lifted the light-wand & continued down the corridor.

A cluster of fireflies floated at the next bend, making a light tinkling music as they flashed & flew.

"Muse!!" Harmony croaked, her voice rasping with disuse.

The firefly-cluster flashed brightly, twisted, and morphed into strand of tiny bells; they jingled in unison, and Harmony felt Muse's projected ether hug her. Then it drew back, and the fireflies reappeared, forming a flashing "?!"

"I know," Harmony said, "I'm pregnant. I'm still trying to figure out what happened...how I got here, where 'here' is, and how I wound up this way."

"I heard that before," buzzed Muse in Harmony's mind, laughter darkening her firefly-light to purple.

Harmony snorted and frowned in disagreement, but didn't argue. She'd learned arguing with Muse was exactly what Muse wanted, and it was never worth the effort. Muse would never be couth, or even sane--she was loyal and amusing, occasionally useful, and that was all. Being another side of Harmony's self didn't mean that Harmony didn't sometimes wish she could be free of Muse's more boorish tendencies.

Sensing the argument wasn't going to happen, Muse turned her fireflies black and began whining her annoyance.

Harmony shook her head, and waved down the hall. "come if you wish"

"Like I would miss this," Muse buzzed, "a pregnant lady wandering half-naked through a bone-house. The only thing that could top that, would be a dragon made of bacon!" The fireflies suddenly began making a hissing noise, and Harmony's nostrils twitched as the scent of bacon wafted by her face. Her mouth watered, and her stomach began to growl viciously.

Great, she thought, not just a pregnant lady wandering half-naked through a bone-house. A spell-supported pregnant lady, in an unknown location, with an ether-self that won't stop cracking crude jokes--and I'm hungry now, too. This is SO not funny.

Muse burst out laughing as she sensed Harmony's thought, but Harmony kept walking.

The floor in this part of the passage was still un-even, but in places it seemed almost to have a pattern to its shifting rise & fall of the cobbles; under the dust & black moss a few shone brightly-colored, too, a striking contrast to the walls & ceiling which were crumbling & grey.

Harmony shifted some of the grimy moss with her foot, and saw a gleaming red tile flash beneath, reflecting red sparks onto the wall.

Muse, who has been sulking in a corner of the ceiling flashing disco-lights at her defeat, suddenly spots Ozymandias and flushes bright neon green. With an evil cackle & a loud **PLOIK** she transports herself within arm's reach and begins attaching as many jitterbugs as she possibly can to his cloak, shoes, and any other available spot of him. Some are obvious holograms, but others appear to be real.

Finishing this, she appears to lose interest in the whole affair & mutates into a large blob of purple meringue. She then begins spinning like a top, flinging bits of herself into everyone's hair while projecting the simphonie fantastique, movement 5...the Witches' Sabbath, by Berlioz. Remarkably (or unremarkably?) this does not appear to adversely effect anyone's mood.

Harmony, seeing the last of the jitterbugs thusly occupied, removes herself from the energy-netting to fling it over Ozy, thus trapping them. "Don't worry, sir", she says in a strange, many-throated voice, "One of us will have those off you and disposed of in short order". She taps a light-wand on the floor, creating a shower of sparks which stick to individual bugs & begin to burn them off.

Harmony has been asleep for a long time...due to a spell perhaps, or the darkened air of room, or perhaps the mischief of her other-self gone awry. She isn't sure. What she is sure of, is what her senses now tell her. Something has changed.

But what?

She looks around her at the cobweb-cluttered walls, the crumbling stone, dark bits of moss growing along the damp floor, and lets out a little sigh. Her breath rustles through the air, and as her senses flitter in, she notices she's laying on her side, in a long, dark hole in the wall--a ledge, really, a few feet above the floor.

Glancing down, she sees she's covered in a soft blanket. It's made of russet velvet, a deep warm color, though nearly bare from moth-holes and nearly indistinguishable beneath the layer of dust.

She sniffs, and the scents of age and decay fill her nostrils. Ugh.

Carefully, (it occurs to her that her surroundings may warrant caution) she lifts a hand from the stone beneath her and raises it to push aside the soft covering. She slides first one, then both legs carefully from the hole, props herself up into a sitting position. Her head reels, but she knows from the cool air that whatever, or whoever, left her there left her clothing-less; she lifts the covering to bring it with her. Unfortunately, it crumbles when it is lifted. wiping her eyes, she thinks, Oh well, there's no one here anyway. Slowly, she slides out of the hole onto the floor, and stands, coated in dust, gazing around her.

I must have been here a long time, she notes; her previously shorn hair now falls once again to her feet, covering her like a shimmering cloak.

What is this strange place?

Long hallways stretch behind and before, and another to her left. All the same, they bear more long shelves, some with quietly resting figures, long since turned to bleached bone and ashen flesh. A soft absence of meaning hovers over them, as if they are somewhat unreal, or simply pieces of the décor.

A Bone-house? How curious.

The walls and floor, and the arched ceilings rising to a clear white round lamp at regular intervals, all seemed real enough though.

Might as well try one, she thinks. Nothing to be afraid of, yet.

Glancing back to the hole she came from, Harmony notices a tiny basket sitting on the floor before her shelf. Bending down, she lifts the lid.

A bright flash of golden light fills her face for a second, and when her eyes clear, she sees a light-wand & a long tunic of fine white linen. Naturally, she puts on the tunic, and hefts the (surprisingly heavy) light-wand...with fingers trembling in shock.

She has noticed one more thing, in the brief seconds it took to turn, bend, lift the lid, remove the tunic, and slide it on.

She's pregnant.

Very much so.

Swathed in the depths of a mystic-energy mosquito net, Harmony watches the action with liquid eyes, sipping her drink quietly. Muse, however, tears around the room snatching jitterbugs from random corners & beaning people with them, all the while singing "Pink Elephants On Parade" at the top of her lungs...with music included.

Harmony wonders if she could help Brighid, who had long since left the room... She lights a tiny spark of mystic energy at the tip of one finger & draws a tiny door in the air, and then a tiny key, and whispers a word over it. It flits away in the direction Brighid left in, humming softly.

Suddenly Harmony realizes that doing this has torn a tiny hole in her netting cover. With the tiniest bit of terror lighting her eyes she whips out a golden needle and knits the threads closed...just in time. Muse materializes only milliseconds later, wielding a large, wriggling Jitterbug in each hand..all sixteen of them. She howls in rage when she sees she cannot infect Harmony...

*wonders when Muse will appear to chase that Werechicken... 'cause she will. OH YES, she will.

*grammar Nazi...'were' not 'where' in the 2nd to last line? Haha, sorry, can't help it. Two of the Nine Voices are serious perfectionists. I'd like to see more though!

Harmony strolls in looking around her mutely, trying to ignore the effervescent Muse who follows, launching herself at the rubber-egg-laying turban with banshee-like screeches of "IT'S SO FLUFFY!!". Seating her self at a corner table, she gazes out over the crowd, marveling to herself that certain persons have not yet made an appearance. "I suppose that means I'm early", she thought, "but, early for what?".

Snypuier, you are an old flatterer. *smiles*

Here's one just for you.

Snap and hiss, dance and flick,

is it thin or is it thick?

flash and slash, scratch and scrape,

heaving mud, floating crepe

never laugh at a live dragon

hitch your horse behind the wagon

little girls can lead donkeys

loudest screams from smallest monkeys

what is life? and what is art?

see, we've known it from the start...

paint or clay or words or truth,

all is art, and we are proof...

That's a really rough first version...I've already re-written parts of it...but for some reason the editor won't let me change that one.

In 1066, the wheel rolled 'round,

invisible became visible, the mighty Paradigm uncloaking

Drums beat, feet tread to the tune of Feudal lords

Until ignorance and Black Death shook them

from their marble pedestals, falling,

into the courts of the Great Church.

Then turn again,

schism, corruption, ripped the Church in twain,

pursued, believers fled to foreign soil

to start again; but overhead

the Papal Cross, and Crown

spread grasping hands.

Around again,

The foreign soil claimed as Hearth and Home,

plowshares turned to swords, across the land

and Crown and Cross, flung back across the sea,

relinquished, by necessity, their hold.

Then sat they down, the Leaders of us all,

the Mighty Paradigm they took to heart,

considered, searched, and fell upon a goal;

they turned that wheel 'twards a steep uphill route,

and slowed its turning, with the Power of Faith.

Now I see more--

the slope's progression rises, but our Wheel

has turned aside. It twists and jerks along the rocky ground

off of the path, along a downhill slide

--I fear I see a cliff! And yet I ride--

chained to the Mighty Paradigm,

with baited breath,

for, are we chained to life? Or is it death?

Wow, I could ponder on this one. Or write an entire short-story. Very nicely done!

John Cougar Mellencamp, "small town". It's not too bad.

Meh. All art is art!! Whether you read it, stare at it, listen to it, or read it...even eat it. Which I do. I don't just write poems, I bake 'art cakes' which as anyone who has tasted one will tell you, are definitely ART.

Kick. I'm told I have a killer roundhouse (as I should, I'm a brown-belt)...

Ice sculpture or sugar?

Hello again beautiful people!

I wrote a haiku, and I just HAD to add more to it...I know, too much of a good thing, spoils it. Can't help it...I'm just not satisfied with only 17 syllables.

Twilight in the afternoon,

Grey skies hint at a bitter cold;

Summer's dance is done, Fall's in the wings

Tying on her slippers with ribbons of gold

While Winter takes a spin--

crystal-bright, she touches us all

with a breathless

sweetness

that cuts like a knife.

Wow, a lot of dark, and grey, and cold...wonder if winter's coming? (duh).

Summer's gone, Fall's in

the wings, catching her breath-- as,

Winter takes spin.

Snypiuer has my meaning--'lone' was to indicate they were 'lonely', pairs of lights for each lone car; but 'lonely' didn't fit so well...

You're all too kind. It could still use some re-writing...

Funny you should say that--I wrote this for my husband, when he was taking a job driving a big rig... irony!

^{These were based on events I experienced with my daughter...yes, she is totally fine, not hurt at all, & really I am the only one who remembers! Kids...}

Thanks!! I'm glad you liked it! I had fun writing it too...

Just re-posting a note on here...anyone else want to read this feel free...