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Unwrapping A Tale

by Z-Man 7 months ago in literature
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From Taken Tokens Of A Vestige Visage

Like a screw being driven deeper and deeper in paced, maddening twists, this tale yearns to be unfeld.

That is "unfolded", for those with minds who have still got their chance to escape.

As for is much too late. For with every sip taken of cerulean sky, the end draws nearer--the hunger deeper and darker.

My eyes circle like a hawk, pulling out every detail, every subscript of unseen lore; every scrap to be salvaged.

A pause. A sip. A pause. A sip. With each rise of my fingers off the keys comes the chaotic edge. With each exit from flow comes the promise of death.

And, again, I reach out to grasp this treasure with abandon. But, indeed, this time I halt...


Halt and fiddle with nervous fingers.

Oh, God, I can feel the vision fading away. The vision of grandeur, lost. Lost in the trials and trails of time's crossroads of moments.

I reach back now, and lift, and throw back morsels of flavor. Rejuvenation flows through the empty spaces within me. The lustful energies reignite and pump the brakes to stasis. With increasing rapidity, I store these words to surrogate stone. They become unchangeable; unmarrable; unrelinquishable by no other's hand.

But the time is growing short now. The time has come to quicken my pace and slacken my mischievous distractions. I press my keys down harder now; with all the solidity of subtlety. Like landing lights, the glow that spills around them all reveals the arrival that is sure to come. All around me is light now: the lights of journey and arrival, of departure and decay. The light of those extraneous loves that will deter this piece from completion with their requisite attention.

I sip once more and look down once more. There is something in the corner. Yes, I can see it now. It is telling me I have past the point of no return now. I have passed the time of reckoning in the dark. All there is to do now is to lay the words down; lay them down as fast as I can; lay them down before it is too late.

I can feel the pace coming now. The pace of a madman who has hit his stride and who has become unstoppable. The beast in the corner yawns forth now. It assembles its rising visage with calculated ferocity, demanding that I type, type, type, type as fast as I can, with as much fluidity and finesse and finality that I can muster.

Oh yes, the time for stone is close at hand. I notch each singular note into the slab unseen, feeling my gorge rise with the words that try to escape their final destination through my fingers. Spasms echo all around as the end draws nearer. The cusp of completion is not far now.

Sip. Stone.

Click. Click. Click.

There are no words now, just the incessant demand to be down with this whole charade. To fill the white with ebon blood, and to cloak the monster that has compiled itself over yonder.

I can hear it breathing. Breathing and salivating with life.

I can see that it is getting cold now. Colder. Colder.

This poor wretch demands the heat of legacy, and it is my duty to bring it such. My heart fills with a love for this creation of unknown forces. I begin to see it for something more than the sum of its parts; of the token associations and prejudices of its facade.

The finality creeps upon me.

The desire to race fades away.

The task is complete.


My, God.

Something has awoken.

Looking back, I am struck by how swiftly the face of the journey undermines the steps and qualities of its adventure. Surely now, there is one thing I know for a fact: that things are not always quite what they seem.

I must go now, but I will be back.

I will always be back.


About the author



Hello all! I am an aspiring vocalist, filmmaker + writer. I hope you gain something personal + inspiring from my work here. You are also welcome to subscribe to my YouTube Channel: Ad-Libbing With The Zman.

Thank You!



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