by Chad Geesman

Created on: September 09, 2008

The dead man hangs on unseen strings,
Grotesque is the seen as he rots away.
Still as the silence that surrounds him.
No whispers in the wind.
No tick-tock of the far off clock.
So scratching on the floor of the unseen rat.
Nothing.

Pluck of the string, a soft sound, barely heard.
A twitch of a finger, or maybe a trick of the eye.
Pluck of the string, louder now.
By no trick of the eye, a dead hand twitches to the sound.

A series of cords plucked, a beautiful sound,
The dead hand moves in a conductors fashion, waving on the music.

Finally, the bow touches down on the string, playing a slow, lovely sound.
The unseen strings are broken, the dead man on his feet.
Rotting and decayed, finding his balance, moving this way and that, to and fro with the sawy of the music which slowly picks up speed.

The man, long dead and gone, dances to the music with his unseen memory of a lover
A beautiful lost memory I'm sure, returned to him through the music.
Such a sweet thought if it be true.

Spin after spin, the dead man dances to the music, guided only by the music.
Alive only for the music.
A grotesque sight to behold for sure.

At last the crescendo!
The blur of his feet unlike any he could perform in life.
Then the music stops.
The last whisper of sound disappears.
The last wind from his spin dies.
He stands there, still as he is dead.
Slowly a smile creeps along his lips.
With the last smile,
With a last dance to his love,
He crumbles to dust.

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