I.
They were dazed, nay sozzled; smiling, safely within serenity. A warm fuzzy glow absorbed them in its blanket of holy light and warmed their souls as if they were sat before a fireside or a hearth filled with soft, inviting heat. The lounge was lush, with plush designs and sensuous fabrics galore, there were plasma screen televisions and orange lava lamps and polaroid photographs hanging upon twine that winds across the mantlepiece. They sprawled on a velvet sofa, waiting for psychedelics to kick in. Earlier the same day, an ascetic few knelt before the lord, their higher powers, in prayer, in the hopes that later they may stand tall before the world, with chest out, shoulders back, chin high and eyes wide. The waters of their souls were placid as a peaceful summertime lake, in which they floated and stared up at the stars on the ceiling of their skull, a gorgeous smile beaming across their dimpled cheeks, each end almost reaching their unpierced ear lobes.
They spoke in modern tones of urban lust and ancient love. They danced with decadent exuberance in mansions and royal estates, from rooftop bars in Dubai to tropical Caribbean islands, and beneath the glittering technicolour streetlights of Tokyo and Hong Kong. They paraded the palisades of old castles at dawn with ice buckets and champagne bottles in tow. They were mad with spectral delight, intoxicated by a burning will to experience the sensual delicacies of life itself. You could hear their chatter through the wall, clear as a cloudless sky, every tut and shuffle, each strange sound, the creaks of bed posts, the sliding across of curtains to shield the dull yellow glow of dawn fast approaching, every laugh in the night, innumerable indiscernible rustles and rattles of grinders and roaches and lighters with their dry flints sparking a fluid-esque flame. They strolled the shores of Thailand; holding hands, their skin felt like smooth cool coconut, bone dry, so soft to the touch – like a slide that winds through time from the tip of your tongue – seeking solace and solitude in one another’s atmosphere.
They smoked Cuban cigars in royal opera houses and lounged in pub gardens chatting with nonchalant nostalgia about memories that twinkle with elegance in their psyche, or shared experiences in exotic paradise islands where beauty was more profound and profuse than any lands they had hither to trod. They lolled about the floral-scape which appeared to devour the garden lawn of a grand Victorian townhouse with fresh renovations, the exact grassland where decades before their forefathers held croquet competitions with a great merry cheer, now usurped by the most delicate and sublime flowers and blossoming petals known to earth, bountiful stems flittering in the wind, an exquisite spray of pollen dust blanketing the leafy green shoots of grass beneath in a frost-like silvery mist. Their rolling chestnut coloured locks of frizzy hair fell down upon and brushed gently passed their rhythmically swaying shoulders as they skipped over the trim grass pathway that wound smoothly through the luscious chateau gardens. They wore frilly white sundresses in summer gatherings to celebrate and make festive and charmed the fading afternoon sunbeams which glinted and glittered upon the hazy horizon. Their graceful limbs were adorned with stone-beaded bracelets and interwoven twine anklets alike. Dashed with bright saturated colours that glowed and lit up their skin with a fiery wash of light. One wore a golden necklace with cross and a strange symbol, a circle of ice-bone coloured silver in which was finely fitted a triangle of gold, it’s tip pointing downwards ominously, with an arrow within it facing upwards optimistically. Some spell-like meaning was sown in that riddle of shapes and artistically-hewn hints of imagery.
They floated over far-rolling deserts – a hot sea of sand with valleys bouncing up and down like crashing waves and oceanic towers of water – safe and snug in a majestic hot air balloon of luxurious design and magnificent aesthetics; its wood-panelled interior providing a rustic sense of home, even in the very heart of an adventure, such as they were embarked upon, traversing the vast deserts and dunes of an exotic foreign continent. They giggled in gigantic private cinema screenings gobbling micro-dosed ecstasy pills like cute candy pellets or sugary pez sweets. They sucked lsd-infused lollipops and licked their treacle sticky fingertips with oily psychedelic tongues and lips. They sun bathed nude in luxury beach resorts on decadent Mediterranean coastlines. They dined on the decks of opulent yachts moored in quaint island harbours and sauntered merrily through native markets and fresh food stalls. They fished with wise old sailors for wild tuna who taught them as children to bait a hook for swordfish and store hand-crafted tackles and to tie bowlines, slipknots and furl the main sail from the mast, clinging to the jerking boom electrified by the thrill of danger and adrenaline. They prepared green leaf salads and artisanal appetizer platters like Michelin star chefs with the masterful grace of a ballerina and the technical finesse of a surgeon. They were bon vivants of high excellence, their lives were grand tapestries of triumphant experiences in the odyssey for the heart of life itself and to embody the truest form of living creature attainable to our mortal hands.
“The world is round”, one murmured poetically, “a globe-shaped orb, like a spherical globule in space”. “I can’t believe people used to dress like that”, she whispered gleefully to him, motioning casually to an elderly couple in corduroy trousers and tweed blazers. “How smart they look, how charming their style of dress and elegant their expressions of language. How inviting their smiles are and what depth in their eyes, as if one could look so far into the infinite passageway to their souls that eventually what appears, much to your surprise, is your own eerie reflection”. She perched upon her duvet covers and quilted furs, at the end of her bed, later that evening, and gazed out the window; spotting a cat creep over the suburban rooftops like a silent burglar in the night, and peek inside a pink lit bedroom with feathery fabrics galore, curious – she mused – hugging a fluffy cushion of soft silk, wrapping her slender limbs around it and inhaling deep rose scented breaths of perfume.
II.
At the break of dawn,
We are all reborn,
Like a fragile fawn,
Naked and forlorn –
Like a crestfallen soldier is mauled
Whose breastplate is brutally torn,
Lying dead upon the bloody shore,
Whose earthly life is sadly no more,
Yet still his soul will live on in famous lore –
They sat in a local café reciting poetry to one another in this manner and spoke warmly with the host, whom they kindly tipped with a smile and a subtle handshake, a bulging wad of paper bills neatly folded and nestled within their palms as they extended their arm outwards to greet their friend and server. A hot orange glare shone from an incandescent lamp at the highest pinnacle of the pointed ceiling – like the inside of a pyramid, the peak soaring upwards directly from the centre of the floor far below – and there the warm yellowish haze soaked the scene in sublime light, ever so heavenly, nay holy to behold.
They sleep long and deep, hibernate, rejuvenate, invigorate, energised with dreaming eyes, elevate. Their ego disintegrates, their mind combobulates, and when they rise the world shines bright and the skies are alight, their soul revitalised, they shake the hand of death at their front doors and welcome the day with all the reverence it has bequeathed and thus deserves itself.
To them, life in all its peculiar glory abounds, with its ethereal grace of Elven reminiscence, and further layers of tough gritty reality, of horror and reflections of the abyss startling our souls as we hang suspended over the caverns of despair on a tightrope; yet good travels through the world like whirlwind of sublime grace, a holiness, a land filled with sacred statues, messages from the past carved into cave walls, paintings whose subject is the holy beauty of nature, imbuing its viewers with aesthetic wanderlust, lush green fields unrolling upon the horizon in folds of land like ripples in a magnificent gem-spangled, jewel-beaded sequin dress, and seas that sparkle like fizzing bubbles and glitter like stars on a moonless night, a world in which one can cloud gaze on summer afternoons bathed in warm weather, flowers abundant beside you, fishing for images in the skies, that great blue canvas, in which strange white fluffy clouds – bloated with rain droplets – float past like a merry-go-round of beauty and earthly divinity. An elephant shape strolls by, padding and plodding its light feet over the air, levitating magically with serene calm, the patterns of the clouds then changing, evolving, transforming, a metamorphosis occurring in real time, for all to behold, showing new pictures in the sky: a car driving by, a bicycle, many trees and shrub bushes, a face of odd expression staring intently down upon us, filling us with the terror of the omnipotence of nature and the existential laws of reality that torment our liberty, its eyes then appearing to soften their gaze, the mouth subtly tilting to a timid smile, the cheeks rounding into dimpled bowls of white, the eyebrows moving into an expression of compassion, as if saved by the lord from his own terror and vast force of will, and instead scooped up, safe and sound, in his arms to rejoice in the world and its wonder and to surrender to its overwhelming power.
She smiled to herself, pleasantly pleased and at ease in her heart, for the air felt still, as if a gale had suddenly ceased blowing furiously around her thus showering the scene in silence. What a world, she thought to herself. A world with charming antiques and glorious antiquities made adorning highlights of a grand opera house renovated into a chic museum of great intellectual beauty. A world of ancient oracles winding tales like long interlocking cords in a huge steel spider web of immense size and scale and displaying an ingenious level of mathematical prowess, and so the wheels of the world turn in their sockets and fate surfs along the wave crest of time slowly flooding in and pouring out again and again in tidal cycles, fuelling space like an engine in its grand odyssey of cause and effect, the very continuation of life itself, churning away ceaselessly with the stomping war march of eternity all the way to the gates of infinity itself, and back again. A world of water where whales dive deep into the ocean depths, in which dolphins dance in the distant shores and glide gracefully through the clear blue seas, the sun shining with superb eminence in the sky, and sea birds darting swiftly about the coastline, or perched upon the rocky faces of sea cliffs bristling their soggy feathers and shaking the cold salty water from their fluffy coats. Yet also a world in which noble heroes of the past ages were pursued by bitter vengeful demi gods of war who enacted their cruel tricks and plot and ploys most unjustly upon those honourable souls of humanity who fought back against their damnable dominion. Yet there, look, she said, spotting an ocean of dreams and fluid fables interwoven like a myriad of chestnut-coloured hair loosely braided and billowing in the breeze. And poppy petals laden with pollen and ringlets of roses resplendent with rare richness. And the twigs of a poplar tree waving in the wind. And carefully baked croissants with clotted creams and jams of many different summer berry flavours and cinnamon sticks and the crispy crumbs and crackling crusts scattered upon the kitchen counter.
A world of festive feasts and popping crackers and hearty laughter and golden roast potatoes in colourful oven dishes baking with warmth, of flickering candles and silver tinsel, of bushy green trees and an open fire simmering in the mulled-wine-scented snug, a cosy cat cuddling a cushion in its cot surrounded by sensuous red curtains, a place where frankincense, maple leaf and cinnamon perfumes wafting gracefully like light wight clouds float ethereal and Elven esque, or like butterflies flitting their thin wings and dazzling the eye with a dancing array of symmetrical coloured shapes of artful design and style, of homely dogs sprawled lazily upon soft beds and cashmere quilts, snoring quietly in his peaceful slumber and dreaming of a gorgeous lake swim, a heartfelt fantasy. A great banquet table in the dining room bustling and brimming with a sumptuous selection of food, from honey-glazed roast meats of the finest cut to steamed and salted vegetables, and sauces from thick hollandaise and creamy gravy to seeded mustard and homemade mayonnaise , oregano herbs and Christmas spiced, toffee-coated apples and technicolour candy canes, subtle tea lights with an electric glow like a neon blaze of purple haze, and child-sized chocolate coins cooled upon a frozen cold tray and wrapped in gold-painted tin-foil, ancestral heirlooms of crockery and elegant silverware in which were innocently laid mini milk chocolate eggs and small spheres of white mint-infused vanilla coco-balls, or sweet yoghurt coated hazelnuts, roasted cashews and salted almonds, dried corn and miniature pretzels with glassy shards of rock salt embedded in their crusty swirls of baked dough, spicy peanuts and wholesome macadamia all bountiful too, and warm mugs of tea and coffee sat steaming on the fireplace, upon which are hung a creative collage of Christmas cards bearing good tidings to celebrate another winter solstice coming upon us in the unending march of time, phone calls filled with love and tender passion, homely local village churches and opulent city cathedrals both warmed with the body heat of people politely mingling and awaiting the festive service which is announced, nay heralded, by the sudden triumphant singing by the choir of a heavenly harmony that stuns the congregation into an immediate state of wonder and divinely-inspired awe, traditional pubs and modern fine dining restaurants both seating many warm-hearted, soft-spoken and jolly-hearted people who have suddenly awoken to the glory of life and the beauty of the soul all looking upwards and around at one another with peaceful stares of kindness, their invaluable community of eccentric companions who walk together, hand in hand, through their mortal earthly existence as one, united forevermore by unbreakable bonds of fellowship, a world in which strangers smile and birds sing, where babies sleep soundly through the balmy night and the bells of freedom ring out through the town square to a joyous populace, filled with gratitude for their gifts and respect for the Lord’s will, the way of their higher power, the path of righteousness, the road of decency and civility, the holy path to tread, through these worlds and infinite hundreds more alas.
Short Story by Stamos Mardou