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The Story of a Boy, the Wind and the Fiddle




Wind was all.

And everything was covered by it.

Up and down, left and right, It blew from one side to the other.

And when it passed through, it would move everything it touched,
Playing their sounds as it went by
Day and night.

For an audience of but one boy.




I.

The boy would go play in to the Woods, the same one every day.

They were where he found the most beauty in the songs
Which the Wind would play for him.

He would scavenge the hills, walk their every path,
All the while listening to the tunes from all around

The leaves that rustled,

The grass that fizzled,

The trees and branches that moved and whistled.

He couldn’t comprehend its reason or intent, but the Wind played along for the boy’s wishes.

And when he went home, he felt utterly alone.

His house was far from the Woods, and silence surrounded it,
Every day,
All through the night,
As the light would eventually hide.

In the darkness of each night, when sleep couldn’t get hold of him,
He would go towards the porch, trying to catch what little sound he could.

One day, on one of these sleepless nights,

He sewed a few bags

With a fabric so tight that even light

Could not escape.

He sewed them by hand, and listened to the empty skies.

The next day, he went by the Woods, and once he arrived, he pulled out the bags.

He ran through the trees and the tall green grass,
His hands clutching the fabric he had sewn.
The bags filled up with the Wind that the boy caught.
Once they were full, the harvest was done.

With hands full of air, the boy went his way,
Carrying the bags away.

Towards a feast that awaited him that night.

When the sun grew shy, the usual ordeal began.
The boy made his way, through the dark, to the porch.

He opened the doors but his hands were full.
He carried the bags through the door and sat down,
He opened them slightly, one by one.
And as the vessels opened, the boy’s ear came close.

He would listen to the Wind he caught, while looking at trees which stayed still.

An eerie night which continued into each day.


II.

When his foot stepped back in to the forest that he knew so well,
The air took up its pace and started moving in its usual ways.

Circling around, going left and right, it touched the leaves and grasses
It was a familiar joy, one he had felt before,
Many nights and days he passed through this.
Again and again and again.

This time something was different, this time there was something at play.

A new presence, unfamiliar to him.

While humming and walking around, the boy heard another voice
The voice came from behind.
He couldn’t find it in the dark.

As the boy searched for the voice in the night, the sound grew closer and clearer with time.

And soon they appeared,

And they showed their face.

And talked to the boy through twisted tongues.

Three masked creatures, with faces covered in stone,
Enveloped in many horns and protruding bones.
Their eyes were hiding behind the masks,
Peeking feverishly and looking around.


And as they spoke, the boy could hear,
But he couldn’t understand the words they spoke.

And as he listened, he couldn’t hear,
But the words the masks would whisper to him.

Although he couldn’t hear, he could not understand,
He heard them speak but understood the masks.


He played along, just standing there,
In the middle of the Woods covered by the night,
With three masked demons humming their tunes,
Making their way to pass through the Woods.


And so they passed, stumbling their way,
Slowly walking towards someplace far away.

With no words to say, no comment to make,
The boy stood there in awe of the display which just unfolded.
Grasping for words yet finding none,
His mouth closed. They were gone.

And he hummed the tune he heard, silently as he went.

Through the woods which he thought were his alone.

Before the three masked demons

Showed off their tongues.


III.

To no one's surprise, but only the boy’s,

The whispers of the demons he met got lost.

He remembered the tune they performed that night,
The melody was definitely right, however,

The words did not match.
Their whispers got twisted and corrupted.
As much as the boy tried, the sounds did not align,
Perverted by the tongue of a human in disguise.


Human tongues and those of demons,
work in their own peculiar fashion.


The boy would have to find a way to make the sounds come out right.
And so he took on a piece of wood and grabbed a knife his father took.
He took it to the barn where he would work, cut the wood and shape it with
His bare hands and the blade they held.

After many nights that stretched till dawn,
When the boy’s hands had blistered and bled
Too many to count,
He was finally happy with the wood he carved.


He had given it a body, a long, thin neck,

He had put a head on top with two horns and a face,

He took the hair from their goats,

He pulled it all the way from the body through its neck

He tied it on top around its head

And stretched the hair with a wooden peg.

After the sun went its way
Below the horizon and the mountain range,
The boy took his newly carved piece
And took on a journey to his favorite Woods.

He found the spot where they last met, took his bag and let his feet rest
On the grass which moved along its usual way when the Wind would blow.

His feet were cold, but he did not mind.

The coming performance was all his mind

Could think of.

And when he began to stroke the hair
Across with a bow
They would all vibrate.
The body, the neck,
The heads with horns
And finally the hair.

And as his tunes would fill up the air, the boy would hum along,

The same words which he thought he lost

Have found their way to his makeshift tongue.

They spoke of mischief, joy and tears,

The words of demons who were searching for their kin.

Through the Woods, through the mountains, through the people and the goats,

All that was moving was concerning those

Who moved with the Wind and spoke to it softly.

Asking it questions of love and guidance.

And when the Woods were empty once more
Of the sound played by the boy,

The Wind has also

Decided to go.

And so,

Alone

The boy now was,

But his heart was full
of beautiful
words.
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Jeremi Biziuk aka kitarumo