Post by curvestone on Nov 22, 2007 12:34:19 GMT -5
Dream of Fire
By Nathan Cook
The darkness was as night within a night, blacker even than the shadows flowing behind me. Rain beat relentlessly upon my face. As lightening ripped the sky, a gargantuan stone door became visible.
Upon entering, I felt my eyes adjust themselves to a new arrangement of color and light. Shades of red and yellow blazed throughout the massive circular hall, red dominating the design. Fiery depictions of the inferno engulfed the dome ceiling, stealing light from a grand chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Gold pillars lined with black velvet climbed up the blood-red walls surrounding the corridor. Upon the marble floor was a painting of scarlet figures dancing across beige clouds, the sun waning beneath them. I realized then where I stood: a ballroom.
Regarding my apparel, it appeared I was dressed appropriately for such an occasion, whatever occasion that may be. My tux was black, a red tie hanging from my neck. A black top hat tied above the rim with a silk, red ribbon drooped a little on my brow. Completing the costume was the walking stick I had used to manage through the unnavigable night. The cane itself was black, topped with a gold and ruby orb just small enough to fit in my fist. Admittedly, I felt quite grand.
Directly across the room stood another passage. Approaching it, I found myself at the foot of a winding staircase leading up a high tower. The walls and steps of the climb were scarlet, each stair lined at the edge with black velvet. A gold banister twisted its way up alongside the stairs. Sitting at the end of this banister was a small, gold statuette of a praying man. On the wall of the staircase, the left when ascending, were seven-by-three foot windows, each one five feet from the next in repeating order along the wall, following the stairs to the top; in the center of each gap on the wall, a foot-long wicker candle burned. The stairwell would have felt just as hot as the ballroom had it not been for those windows through which the outside storm was permitted to enter.
As I studied how the rain reflected upon the praying figure in a way that made him look as if he were weeping, the soft sound of violins began echoing throughout the stairwell. Their music was utterly divine, and suitably so, as it announced Her presence. From overhead, a woman, beautiful and indescribable as the very essence of being, began to descend. With such grace she moved, gliding down the scarlet steps, her cloak flowing behind her. Her lips were blood-red, her face was white as pearl, and her eyes were more ever-changing than the color of the trees. Each strand of her hair pulsated in its color and danced about her and above her fallen hood like tiny beams of light. With a fluid motion, she removed her red cloak and dropped it at the foot of the stairs, revealing a gown as white as snow, blanketed with what must have been small diamonds and patterned with tiny, red rubies. Her vesture nearly blinded me, for it positively glowed; nay, it shined. She was as beauty. All that seemed out of place with her attire were the two black, leather gloves she wore which, with the removal of the red cloak, did not seem to match the radiance of the white frock.
Slowly she alighted to the foot of the stair and neared me. Beyond all thought, She entranced me. She led me gracefully onto the wide dance floor and, reaching the center just below the imperial chandelier, offered me her gloved hand, the only part of her that didn't emit an unbearably divine light. Graciously, I took it, and we danced to the music of the invisible violinists and the intensity of the raging storm.
She danced with fluidity and grace unparalleled by anything I had ever witnessed. Her very presence was like a brilliant compound of all that ever is or was. But as she removed her glove and took hold of my hand again, I felt my hand begin to sear with fiery pain. As my hand burned with damning vehemence I had never before known, I saw the woman's eyes kindle with the ferocity of a forest fire.
Slowly the blazing heat crept up my arm and about my body, and I became as my surroundings: fire. As I combusted, my image joined the other dancers on the marble floor, to waltz into eternity; for neither they nor I could bare the absolute heat of raw Being.
© Nathan Cook, 2007
By Nathan Cook
The darkness was as night within a night, blacker even than the shadows flowing behind me. Rain beat relentlessly upon my face. As lightening ripped the sky, a gargantuan stone door became visible.
Upon entering, I felt my eyes adjust themselves to a new arrangement of color and light. Shades of red and yellow blazed throughout the massive circular hall, red dominating the design. Fiery depictions of the inferno engulfed the dome ceiling, stealing light from a grand chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Gold pillars lined with black velvet climbed up the blood-red walls surrounding the corridor. Upon the marble floor was a painting of scarlet figures dancing across beige clouds, the sun waning beneath them. I realized then where I stood: a ballroom.
Regarding my apparel, it appeared I was dressed appropriately for such an occasion, whatever occasion that may be. My tux was black, a red tie hanging from my neck. A black top hat tied above the rim with a silk, red ribbon drooped a little on my brow. Completing the costume was the walking stick I had used to manage through the unnavigable night. The cane itself was black, topped with a gold and ruby orb just small enough to fit in my fist. Admittedly, I felt quite grand.
Directly across the room stood another passage. Approaching it, I found myself at the foot of a winding staircase leading up a high tower. The walls and steps of the climb were scarlet, each stair lined at the edge with black velvet. A gold banister twisted its way up alongside the stairs. Sitting at the end of this banister was a small, gold statuette of a praying man. On the wall of the staircase, the left when ascending, were seven-by-three foot windows, each one five feet from the next in repeating order along the wall, following the stairs to the top; in the center of each gap on the wall, a foot-long wicker candle burned. The stairwell would have felt just as hot as the ballroom had it not been for those windows through which the outside storm was permitted to enter.
As I studied how the rain reflected upon the praying figure in a way that made him look as if he were weeping, the soft sound of violins began echoing throughout the stairwell. Their music was utterly divine, and suitably so, as it announced Her presence. From overhead, a woman, beautiful and indescribable as the very essence of being, began to descend. With such grace she moved, gliding down the scarlet steps, her cloak flowing behind her. Her lips were blood-red, her face was white as pearl, and her eyes were more ever-changing than the color of the trees. Each strand of her hair pulsated in its color and danced about her and above her fallen hood like tiny beams of light. With a fluid motion, she removed her red cloak and dropped it at the foot of the stairs, revealing a gown as white as snow, blanketed with what must have been small diamonds and patterned with tiny, red rubies. Her vesture nearly blinded me, for it positively glowed; nay, it shined. She was as beauty. All that seemed out of place with her attire were the two black, leather gloves she wore which, with the removal of the red cloak, did not seem to match the radiance of the white frock.
Slowly she alighted to the foot of the stair and neared me. Beyond all thought, She entranced me. She led me gracefully onto the wide dance floor and, reaching the center just below the imperial chandelier, offered me her gloved hand, the only part of her that didn't emit an unbearably divine light. Graciously, I took it, and we danced to the music of the invisible violinists and the intensity of the raging storm.
She danced with fluidity and grace unparalleled by anything I had ever witnessed. Her very presence was like a brilliant compound of all that ever is or was. But as she removed her glove and took hold of my hand again, I felt my hand begin to sear with fiery pain. As my hand burned with damning vehemence I had never before known, I saw the woman's eyes kindle with the ferocity of a forest fire.
Slowly the blazing heat crept up my arm and about my body, and I became as my surroundings: fire. As I combusted, my image joined the other dancers on the marble floor, to waltz into eternity; for neither they nor I could bare the absolute heat of raw Being.
© Nathan Cook, 2007
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
