Do you remember how to tell a scary story? Yesterday deep in the night, a young man recalled his youthful nightmares which have transformed into sentimental thrills of an old boy’s waking moments.
Once long ago in the very high mountains, an elf-child clambered up mighty rocks, in pursuit of intrigue. Up ahead, laden with numerous satchels, the leanly muscled healer embraced his envious pursuers despite the dry heat. In the distance, an abandoned mine yawned with its first breaths of awakening, as strange organic chemicals leaked with a vengeance out of his gaggle-toothed chasm. The adventurers approached as dusk set in, and an icy metal tank encased their weary bodies as they with rest renewed themselves for the unpredictable excitement that lay ahead. For a span of days, they strove to discover magic and wealth. They worked as a team, sweating and swearing for success’ sake. But rewards were few, and the grand treasure proved a fair illusion, far more transparent than the silk of a skillful moth. There was a curse on the head of the temptress, who chanted her melodies of shiny gold and diamonds. Her voice was a double-edged sword, and her promises of fine winnings led more than a few fervent travelers into the quickest of sand. Fortunate for the child and his loving guides, the fresh waters of a sweet-flowing river shone brighter in the morning than all the stars in the skies of their wildest dreams. Thus, a refreshing swim pelted all senses to a pulp of utter contentment, and the grateful men of the white lagoon lingered until mid-day together in the lap of nature. So, while spirits still swim through the water-ways under the floor-boards and murmurs divide sane minds in two jagged halves night after urban night, all is well in the mountains. The clouds rest assured of this uncanny peace and link arms with chubby hearts brimming over and over again with grandfatherly love.
January 21. 2012
Jennifer Montemayor
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