Elliot Benson
Stories (6/0)
Sands of Sin
My condolences to the gods, they hiss. Ra has lost his best soldier. Emanating from arches of rough-hewn marble, a trio of voices laments. They are ragged, climbing up scratchy throats to perch on parched tongues and ooze out of cracked lips. Much like our man-handled bodies, their words sting with despair.
By Elliot Benson2 years ago in Fiction
Ixchel's Keys
I found it in the baby grand piano my grandmother’s ghost plays in my ex-stepfather’s mansion. A composition book. I’ve plucked it delicately from the strings and hammers beneath the lid - which I have never opened until now - and cradle its binding between my slender fingers. Flicking through each leaf of paper, I see row after row of five-lined staff. Crawling across it are hundreds of scribbled music notes. Spider-like in style, twining stems and irregular dots scratched from top down as a lightning bolt is to sea…There are ninety-six pages of this, I notice, peering at the little numbers dotting each bottom corner. And on the last page, the ninety-seventh, there’s a final line of staff, only two notes inked across it. An unfinished measure. A final bar of mystery.
By Elliot Benson3 years ago in Families