Sunday, December 02, 2007

Phantom Club

November gets no posts. Feel sorry for it. Anyway, here's some writings by me.

Blind could feel the last rays of sunlight on his back as he crouched on the edge of the building, listening to the sounds of the twilight city below. He was quite sure that the sunset behind him was beautiful, everyone would certainly tell him it was. He didn't really know, though. He'd never seen one.

He knew how the sun warmed his skin, and how the shadows of the buildings cast patches of coolness through the city. He knew the cold feeling of the metal beneath his fingertips as the warmth of the day dissipated into the chill air. He knew how the birds called among themselves that the day was gone, he knew how traffic dwindled from it's great roar of the daytime to near-silent whispers of the lone car heading home, he knew how the city itself seemed to sigh as it celebrated the release of sleep.

All this he knew.

He was just frustrated that he couldn't see the stupid thing, that's all.

Everyone had told him about it, and he was certain that they'd done a wonderful job, but it really didn't help to tell him about the way that the brilliant orange melted into the midnight blue of the sky when he didn't know what orange was. And really, how could he expect them to describe orange? It was... Well, orange. Not much help.

Of course, this shortcoming hadn't stopped him from writing about sunsets. Some of his best lyrics had been about sunsets. He'd written about the clouds that billowed around the dying sun, about the first dance of the silver stars in the inky twilight. He wrote about things he didn't know, he sang about things he'd never seen.

But he wouldn't be singing tonight. Tonight was not a night for Jay Kilsinger, but rather a night for DJ Sightless. And DJ Sightless never sang. Too bad.

Yeah, it's shorter than usual. And I didn't number it. But since I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, you'll live.

No comments: