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Night of the Dead
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Jan 21 06:08 UTC 1998 |
IT was a foggy night, and the old hobo stood on the pier, rumpled and stained,
breathing into the fog. He heald up a lumpy old bag and brought out musty
mildewed accordions, tangled around eachother like mating snakes.
The faded fabric broke at his oily shaky touch, but he managed to produce one
end and tossed it into the grey-white milky sea. It mysteriously floated
away.
Again and again, the old man ploped accordon after accordion into the bay,
and sadly watched them float, bobbing like satanic bouys, disapearing into
the fogcloudy night. At long last, one fairly new and playable accordion
was discovered, and he held it like an old lover. And underneath his fingers,
the accordion sang "taps" over the waves into the beyond.
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| 6 responses total. |
orinoco
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response 1 of 6:
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Jan 22 05:37 UTC 1998 |
Meanwhile, out on the deep, those accordions who had been cast away turned,
and faced the pier with expectant faces, for they knew well the prophesy.
Some day, this shiny, new accordion would grow dull, worn out, tattered, even
more than they were, and would be cast into the deep with them. Then, the
prophets had stated, they would rise once more from the water, renewed,
sharing in the splendour that had formerly belonged to their saviour alone.
A foghorn sounded once in the distance.
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response 2 of 6:
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Jan 28 04:08 UTC 1998 |
<font cheers and whistles, jumping up and down and lollygagging like crazy>
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srw
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response 3 of 6:
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Mar 25 06:36 UTC 1998 |
<since I love to see good lollygagging, I will continue the story>
And months went by, but no one noticed the accordians. The tide came and
went, slowly separating each one from the rest and sending each off on a
voyage to a different place. Each one carried a longing, a yearning for
that time when they would be reunited, and yet faced a period of
uncertainty as a waterlogged instrument to be perhaps washed up
somewhere, who knows where, in the interim.
Their resurrection would have to wait, because the hobo returned every
night to the pier and played to the now-empty harbor. Taps. He loved to
play this, even because it scared away the seagulls. He made sure that
he kept the saviour accordian shined and in good order. It was his only
true possession, and nothing could part him from it. He knew nothing of
the consequences of this action for the others, nor would he have cared.
CHAPTER I (The First Accordian's Tale)
The following morning found the fog lifting. The foghorn could no longer
be heard. The first accordian was alone, cold. and waterlogged as it
drifted low in the water. It drifted this way for days, losing
consciousness from time to time, but surviving due to a trapped air
bubble within its chamber, the lack of need for food, and sheer
determination to rise into the air one day.
Landing unexpectedly on that desolate beach jarred it back to awareness.
Of course it could only lay there and leak seawater. How pathetic it
felt.
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orinoco
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response 4 of 6:
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Mar 26 04:50 UTC 1998 |
...(the tale continues)...
Lacking eyes, it could not discern the outline of a broken-down Volkswagen
on the crest of a distant hill. Lacking ears, it was unaware of the sound
of drumming emanating from a small tent beside the car. All it was aware of
was wind, wind and waves on the grey beach.
But even in these dire straits, it had faith in its saviour, He of shining
buttons and well-balanced reeds, Whose bellows move with the rhythm of sunrise
and sunset. Yes, the Great Squeezebox was watching. He had been watching
since he day He sent His son down to earth, that he might be found by the old
hobo and bring new life to the downtrodden masses. And so He had watched,
as the first accordion drifted off to sea, and was carried by the wind and
the waves to this shore. And so He watched still, and sensed the accordion's
instinctual yearning for the company of the Unknown Drummer in the car above.
And so, He sent down His messenger in the form of a tortoise, slowly plodding
along the beach...
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font
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response 5 of 6:
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Mar 29 08:55 UTC 1998 |
...who rustily said, "Hey, what are you doin rusting here? Waiting for the
safety of the great Peir to come to you? Use them bellows to transport you
accross the sea! YOu are one of great faith, use it!"
It skuttled away, momentarily confused, then resumed looking for a good place
to lay eggs.
.................................
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orinoco
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response 6 of 6:
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Mar 29 23:03 UTC 1998 |
The accordion heeded his words, and proceeded to slowly work his bellows in
and out, in and out, wheezing an off-key melody as he worked up air pressure.
Finally, with an ear-splitting diminished 7th chord, he let out a huge burst
of air, propelling him a short distance up the hill. And so, honking and
moaning the whole way, he slowly began moving towards the Volkswagen on the
hill, where signs of movement were becoming apparent.
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