Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Constantinople *a short story piece by me*

Awakening slowly with fractured images of muddled dreams still lingering in the back of my mind I lay on the cool grass for a few precious minutes, my eyes closed to the world, keeping the wondrous majesties of my Dreamscape alive.

"I don't want to leave.. Can it not be so that I stay here forever and a day?" Dancing lights of neon colours twirl and prance with boundless abandon behind my eyelids, strikes of purples and gold’s bring light to the darkness as I plead to some unknown force to take me back to my Dreamscape, to my most secret place. My place where I can once more walk in endless grassy fields, sparkling blankets of morning dew protecting nature from the icy touch of a winter’s sun. And yet the bright light of early dawn creates almost a living symphony of Ice Fairies from the morning dew, I stand still for a moment, watching the Fairies dance above daffodils and prance between rose thorns. The soft voices of my most dearest of friends; Barker and Fawn call to me from beneath the Hollow, the sounds of their voices intermingling through the perfume scented air wakes me from my trance.

We walk away from the fields, passing beyond the Hollow and in to the woods beyond, leaving behind the calm, tranquil turquoise skies for an altogether cozier, more personal stage. Walking in between rows of trees I turned my head skyward and saw the branches coiled together in a passionate, almost sexual embrace. They appeared as though desperate to interlock with the opposite trees branches, in the dim light that could shine through the canopy they took upon almost malformed human shapes, my raced with images of amorphous, humanoids engaged in acts of passion, the sunlight illuminating their unholy, concubine acts. Down upon the ground our feet make an odd crescendo of crunching noises, over branches and fallen trees we make our way home, to our “motherland” where our ancestors blood is as much a part of the earth as any legacy of some long lost God, some ruins of an ancient civilization sleeping in the dirt between skeletal remains forever frozen in the throes of death, their final moments preserved below for any voyeur with a shovel to unearth.

Along the way we spoke of many things, oh how we could talk on endlessly whenever chance would have it that we were together at once! We brought the world to rights between us, three friends walking a well-trodden path bringing up subjects ranging from the government of our day, trouble within the upper echelons of the church and this new art just beginning to gain prominence that Barker told me was being dubbed “Romantic” quite a name I thought for a style that sounded to my ears devoid of any heart or love and so self-involved with personal tragedy, an “existential crisis on canvas for public viewing” I decried it. Still I shall see how it fares, but of course when the majority of its creators sound like; pompous, rich boys so busy with pretense and image and the majority of critics are no different than I can imagine it will do quite well.

At noon we had passed beyond the woods and stood upon a cliffs edge looking out over my home, my motherland, my Dreamscape. The City of Constantinople, the city of the living, life teems within every inch of its buildings, corner, markets, libraries and universities. Everywhere you look you shall nothing less than the absolute, purest celebration of the human soul.

I stood perfectly still for a moment, my eyes never wavering from the sight that forever holds pride of place in my heart. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, blood rushed to my head making me appear flushed, I could not no matter how hard I tried contain this emotion within me. This eternal fear that I shall not know whence I can return to my home, when I can walk through her crowded streets, life all around me, people of every race, creed and persuasion singing, filling the air with so many dialects it is positively dizzying. To walk through the market is to see food and wine importing from every country in all the world, you can watch as fearless sailors unload cargo behind stalls, see the venders place foods the likes of which I can imagine the Gods and Goddess’ themselves feast upon at banquets, the air becomes scented with such wondrous smells I could close my eyes and be content to stand there all day. Truly Constantinople is such a perfect place, her embrace around my heart is greater than that of any love, more passionate than any words to be found in a trite poem professing of love, the sight of her temples make me more alive with white heat than the sight of any flesh ever could.

All of this I did not know when I could possibly see again, I prayed silently to whatever God above commanded the power of dreams. Who was it that held the power to send me to sleep forever and carry me to my paradise, a place thousands of years ago, a place my mortal eyes have never seen, but of what importance is that? This world is real to me, that grey, concrete prison never was my reality, I defied it years ago! Here was where I belonged where I could be truly alive.

“Oh please Lord, please take me back to my precious Constantinople” And with that quiet plea I opened my eyes and found myself laying on my backgarden.


  1. Why is everyone so much better at writing than me? :(

  2. Absolutely gorgeous. I just found you through Mark's blog ^ and I'm already totally entranced by everything you have to say and the beautiful way in which you say it.

  3. WOW thank you for the lovely comments One hehe, it made me smiley smile :D I do not feel I am worthy of such high praise but I'm not going to debate it either :P