The gristly splatter is all that remains. The smear of a man that transformed the world with his earnest pleas of freedom and equal rights. A foreign setting in a desolate town. The people clustered together, discussing the future, looking down with forlorn eyes and furtive glances. His generals try to rally the troops and give morale back to the men. Outside, the hotel owner's brother cleans up the blood, vainly trying to erase the memory. Water, bristles, and human toil are doing nothing to eradicate the defecation on the hotel balcony. The night is as still as death. The hold of the night and the terror of the dark brings men inside and reminds them of their own fragile lives. An immortal has been capsized, given up to the dark sea, and sent to God knows where. The men leave the room, scared of their voices. An end to a dream, and dreary reminder of grim reality. They stand next to the blood and converse more freely. They can still feel the presence of the man. Their voices regain courage and the smell of the blood incites them in their talks of revolution. Through guilt, they go back inside, and jump off the coattails.
The building across the hotel is left with an eery ringing. The smell of sulfur sticks to the decrepit and failing walls. The paint peels off, the concrete cold. Vague shadows bounce across the walls, an occasional light enters the room and then just as quickly leaves. Another memory remains here, tattooed across the shadows. A vague form that has left a stain on the air itself. A ghost that needs not to be remembered. A name that will live on in infamy. A drooping hat, dexterous fingers, and razor keen vision. Trenchcoat open and perverted, nestling a rifle inside, gripped to the heart, and feeling the beat of the inhabitant.
Solitary figures siphon out of the room. The night is dark as a raven’s beak except for a single pinpoint of light as the man pulls on his cigarette. Staring into the abyss across the street with a vacant expression. Minutes later, the cigarette is a nub and the man smokes it to the bone, unaware of what he is smoking. A temporary calmness and closeness with death. They go back inside to the light, warmth, and company of their fellows.
Hours later a man still tries to clean up the mess. His fingers are red and he scoops the blood into his cup, looking around himself in shame. A collector's item for the sick and evil.
http://life.time.com/history/life-exclusive-the-day-mlk-died/?iid=lf|mostpop#9
Nice post, Merlin. I read your entry before I even looked at the pictures in the link, and your description made me feel as if I had already seen them before. You do a nice job of setting up a very eerie and grisly scene, and I think a lot of that is due to your word choice (splatter, smear, desolate, forlorn, defacation, etc, etc). Your analysis transforms these photos into almost a nightmarish dream world where everything is shadowy and uncertain, and in between, only seeing a few flickers of light.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kenny. When I wrote this I tried to capture the scene and the dark words tumbled out of my mouth. I almost tried to fill myself with those emotions and the words just came from that emotion. I like your interpretation of everything being shadowy and uncertain and mixed only with single pinpoints of life. It reminds me of a quote that I've always remembered from Atlas Shrugged.
DeleteHe glanced at her and did not answer. Then he said, “I like cigarettes, Miss Taggart. I like to think of fire held in a man’s hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking, I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind–and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression.”
I came looking for your ten photos and stumbled upon this! While reading, it occurred to me that I missed it before, so I read it again. I really like what you did and fully agree with Kenny when he mentioned he felt as if he had seen them already. (Honestly, I didn't even go to look at them, as I would like to sleep well tonight! Just kidding...but seriously.) This was a, pardon the pun, pleasant surprise to your pictures...but I do look forward to seeing them!
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