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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Other · #1765502
A little something I wrote. I don't know what to call it.
The Court Is In Session
A shady figure stands erect. You tense, the only light in this seemingly endless room rests on him, lighting only the outline of his thin frame. His hands seemed to have their own luminescence, glowing a white light. They shone like a white wall would under a searchlight's glare. In one bony, gloved hand he holds a baton. He taps at the air and a sound, like heels on linoleum, is pronounced clearly. He raises the baton and brings both hands down, then to the left, the right, and back up again. No sound. Stronger this time, he lowers both arms, like tearing at a poster. A cacophony of sound belts out from nowhere, and slowly molds itself into a frightening and intense melody. Soon, the baton becoming like an extension of the figure's thin arm, his movements become more precise. He uses both hands now, slamming at the air like it is filled with swarming locusts. A choir harmonizes with the instruments, their voices low and hollow, like a judgment. You can't hear it, but their lonely voices cry out tales of rejection and damnation. Their bleak notes hit the maestro like a battering ram, and he visibly swoons. He quickens his pace, the baton now a foil, and he the fencer. The volume increases. Truth rings aloud, and he shakes his head. The  Demon Choir chants faster, and their presence distorts your vision. You cry put but no words come. He is the Pied Piper! The Choir Sings Reality! The maestro swings at the air, and the air round you shifts. You see the blood, and the Choir tells you it was he who sinned, it was he who had slain another! They resonate in your heart, and you see the maestro grow weary and exasperated. He tells his story with his invisible violins, and the cellos play monotonously, the players invisible. The two groups reach you with equally beautiful pieces, but you hear the poor intonation. After several eternities of the musical warfare, the air round you rises, and you see, that there are other spectators. A raucous applause thunders from the crowd, and the verdict is left a mystery as they all shuffle away.
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