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The Curtains (1 Viewer)

In the dark, still, sanguine halls, there is a certain rustling.

A low, slow, slither like the certain assured sliver of a curtain torn thither and dragged against the sallow walls.

Like snakes in fall leaves they rattle, they battle, they clatter without the brush of time, nor wallow in that hard stone barrow of a once furtive doom and gloomy air.

The curtains speak.

They speak of days gone by, days when I, and perhaps you and another made plans intent to further our sharp, sadistic, filthy, golden greed.

They shout, and they scream, of betrayal and belayal unseen, keen, and feigned like a mother’s kiss turned bloody red from lies, cries, and deceit.

For our blood red hands do brush her lips, for since we passed her hips we have caused nothing but rain, pain, and a touch of the insane lust of greedy eyes and too much freedom to crush all which we do not agree with.

We were a jealous lot, my sister, my brother, and the sister like a mother, we all agreed that what was theirs should be ours.

So with knife and stave, we surely did rave, and broke into the manor house to take what had gone sour in our captor’s embrace.

We parted the curtains, tore away the drapes, pillaged, raped every jewelry box and wardrobe alive.

Then we stove down the master’s door, blades in hand and ever sore, angry in an uproar, as we rent him body from soul, leaving none left for another, nor breath left in his lover, whom he shared the bed of posters, four.

The lover, that lover, she fell upon the floor, uncovered and shamed, the filthy wretched whore.

Then sister cried.

Sister who was like a mother, for the lover, that filthy other, that wretched stain upon the manor house of our lord.

For that lover was none other than our true and single mother, the mother whom our father had left so long ago.

Blood on her lips.

Blood on her hips, blood in a pool upon the bedroom floor, our accusers reflected upon the puddle in the moonlight so subtle, our own red hands did reject us, wrecked us, tore us apart with its violent rebuttal.

I touched her lips, blood smeared like sticky paint, salty and metallic like our knives and our swords.

Then did my brother, cold eyes smothered, cast the curtain upon her lacerated corpse.

Yet here I sit, alone, with no wit, no way, no stave, no defense to call my own.

And down the dark hall, I hear mother’s forlorn call, as she moves about the forsaken, sanguine hall, her certain, reddened curtain, slithering, smothering, assuredly searching, in slivers and shivers of moonlight on the cold stone floor.

As shadows follow her, one, two, three of four.
 
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Darkkin

WF Veterans
Unless a hallway is blood red (wallpaper, paint, etc...), I don't think it can be laid back about things. But I do tend to take things very literally, literally word for word cross-reference from the dictionary. In this case, the colour definition is by far and away the lesser known meaning.

The same case with stove, a majority of readers are seeing, cooking apparatus, not the past participle of stave...

While the words work, their lesser known meanings are not highlighted by their context. And from a reader's standpoint (autistic, w/a special interest in words and writing), the majority of average readers are not going to do their due diligence and look up the lesser known definitions.

Thusly, there are two very awkward approach/action sequences that will leave readers going...'What?' in a piece that has a very stylised rhythm and flow. That flow takes effort to achieve and works well except for those two tripping points.

As a reader I can appreciate the word choices and their usages, but as a reader type, I know I am a finite minority. Consider that No Fear Shakespeare out sells original Shakespeare almost 350 to 1.

If the language requires attention and more than minimal effort, e.g. merely reading, a majority of readers will simply not finish because they get overwhelmed or lose interest.

Overall, I like and appreciate the style and cadence. A gothic delight, but I had to read it through three or four times with referenced context in order to reach that point.

Notes the piece was spot on with, it rhythm, which made it clear the work is poetry, not prose, (as a reader, this is kind of a big deal), the species always helps clarify context and how one is to approach it. And its gothic, obscure gore.

The piece made me pause, kept me engaged enough to do a little homework so I had proper context to continue reading. That does not happen very often. Yes, I look things up, but commonly, the point of confusion is incorrect. It was refreshing to find work that can stand up to basic research. It speaks well of the time and effort that went into the work. A craftman's detail readers don't usually see.
 
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Unless a hallway is blood red (wallpaper, paint, etc...), I don't think it can be laid back about things. But I do tend to take things very literally, literally word for word cross-reference from the dictionary. In this case, the colour definition is by far and away the lesser known meaning.

The same case with stove, a majority of readers are seeing, cooking apparatus, not the past participle of stave...

While the words work, their lesser known meanings are not highlighted by their context. And from a reader's standpoint (autistic, w/a special interest in words and writing), the majority of average readers are not going to do their due diligence and look up the lesser known definitions.

Thusly, there are two very awkward approach/action sequences that will leave readers going...'What?' in a piece that has a very stylised rhythm and flow. That flow takes effort to achieve and works well except for those two tripping points.

As a reader I can appreciate the word choices and their usages, but as a reader type, I know I am a finite minority. Consider that No Fear Shakespeare out sells original Shakespeare almost 350 to 1.

If the language requires attention and more than minimal effort, e.g. merely reading, a majority of readers will simply not finish because they get overwhelmed or lose interest.

Overall, I like and appreciate the style and cadence. A gothic delight, but I had to read it through three or four times with referenced context in order to reach that point.

Notes the piece was spot on with, it rhythm, which made it clear the work is poetry, not prose, (as a reader, this is kind of a big deal), the species always helps clarify context and how one is to approach it. And its gothic, obscure gore.

The piece made me pause, kept me engaged enough to do a little homework so I had proper context to continue reading. That does not happen very often. Yes, I look things up, but commonly, the point of confusion is incorrect. It was refreshing to find work that can stand up to basic research. It speaks well of the time and effort that went into the work. A craftman's detail readers don't usually see.
Hey, thanks much for the feedback! I was reading a lot of old writing around that time so I suppose I erroneously assumed everyone else would have read enough similar works to know most words I was using, but I can be a little oblivious. But thanks for the compliments, thanks for the pointers!
 
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