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Nicholas McConnaughay
May 5th, 2014, 12:00 AM
Genre: Whimsy
Word Count: 640
Background Info: I don't really know what I have to say about this piece. I wrote it about a year or so ago, and I liked it enough to not toss it away. I liked it because I thought it captured a sort-of wonder and madness about it. It eventually did churn out more than what I expected. Akil and Ajou will be returning for an actual novelette that I am writing for The Adventures of Vulpecula. Meanwhile, all of Dero's Orchestra will come back for this novel that I am working on sometime over the next few years. I decided to post this flash-fiction as the anthropomorphic month that I am doing on my website. I'll post another piece of flash-fiction later this month.



Dero's Orchestra


The wing-tip shoes progress ever-so over the vibrating dance-floor, not many a fellow really dead on their feet. This is the self-addressed afterlife of the party. The aberrations have all since awoke from their slumber to the ramshackle melodies in a tranquil loop. They all jump up and down merrily without as much as a care in the world.

This is what eternal bliss is supposed to feel like.

The audience looks on with such awe at the orchestra. They remain founded dumb and gasted with flabber from the captivating way the finger-tips caress the instruments. There's so many characters!

Look at this and look at that!

The way that the large-boned man plays the xylophone on his rib-cage engages the grumpiest of carcasses. Then, just listen to the sound made from the snake while it rattles.

We're all brethren here in Dero's Orchestra.

It's a wonderful place where the bizarre and out-of-place can come together as profound and thoughtful. There are lizards stripped of their leathery frame, and roadkill sipping out from sparkling liquids. All of these can be seen, but only if your eyes can look away from the dance-floor.

The dance-floor is where the decrepit rejoice, and the vanquished revel with such stature and poise.

All of the yawps of yesterday's tomorrow have shed away, and so, now, welcome, friend!

Outlandish and unlikely, but yet almost always so, the folk have met once before, and yet, you'd never know. There's not a familiar face to see, ...not at Dero's Orchestra.

If you are looking for a trifle of reflection amidst the chaos, you'll be sorely disappointed. It's the audacity of it all. It's not meant to be questioned. It's meant to be marveled at. You come to gawk in amazement at the hollowness of the outer-shell and the exasperation held within.

Hanging out at the side opposite the operatic skeletons are the cool cats, Akil and Ajou. Their silken ensembles being carried with carefree posture and prowess. They drink cold-ones, unsure the past they once shared, and watch while a mouse makes his way over. He runs on the counter, pushing a glass with all of his might. His nicely-tailored suit crinkling up in the process. The cats look at him a second, and then look back at one another. They help him, of course, because what else would they do?

We're all friends in this place. It's a place and a sanctum, ... from all of the animal instincts once deemed as relevant. No more childish anecdotes, no more hate, and at last, just love. The cats, maybe once bad to the bone, smile suavely as the mouse slurps from a straw that is much too large. Pretty soon after, eyes back to the dance-floor. There, a parrot stands with a robe of such intricate embroidery, made from his former feathers. He voices his dismay and his concerns. "What is this madness? We can't just forget, mice and cats, and they're all acting as friends? This doesn't make sense," says the rational fellow.

Everybody stands stunned at the man's words. The music stops dramatically and at once, Dero enters the mix. His clothes are an eccentric array and his smile has more teeth than a single jaw should hold. He pays but one glance in the possum's direction. He handles him swiftly. Bones dispatch, one-by-one, the bones leave from the possum, and then, his teeth shatter. His screams aren't audible and they simply don't matter. He tries at his best to wrap his mind on a thought. How could he possibly be any deader than before?

The rattling of the snake begins once more, followed by the xylophone, and eventually, the orchestra carries on. There is only one rule inside of the Orchestra, and it's that upon entry, you must check your brain at the door.

Dave Newton
May 10th, 2014, 03:08 PM
I liked your flash fiction. This is a piece where the imagination is needed although with some descriptions of characters and events my imagination could not muster them up and therefore I could not understand in part, as a reader, what was going on (Was this your intention?). However, I enjoyed the surrealist slant on it and I'm glad you were brave enough to put in on this forum. It seems slightly Alice in Wonderlandish. I think the piece might benefit from being a little less surreal and little more description of what is actually going on although I understand it to be some kind of hell where all naughty animals go to have their rib cages made into xylophones...:icon_cheesygrin:

Nicholas McConnaughay
May 10th, 2014, 11:18 PM
The intention was madness more than it was an actual idea. In The Adventures of Vulpecula, a series of short-stories that I do on my website, I'll actually fear the orchestra more prominently. This was just basically a surreal and allover the place piece that shows what I was thinking when I came up for the idea. Also, Akil and Ajou will be featured as characters later on as well.