Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Momento Mori


It snowed this morning. Kind of. Barely.
Hopefully it is a sign of snow to come. I'd like to have a proper snowy few days at least this winter, as it'll be my first winter fully back at home in a few years, and I want to be able to take advantage of having a garden and woods and a dog to talk in them, and more importantly a FIRE to come back to, instead of my university room with the hole in the window and questionable radiator.


Returning to the point of me opening up a new blog post in readiness of oncoming words.
I only have one picture to show at this point, but you also get a FREE STORY to go with it. You lucky devils, you. Though, it's only like... 3 paragraphs long. So not that exciting. Still, it's FREE!!!

I wrote the story ages ago during the summer months when it was unseasonably dark and foggy and generally quite wintery and I was in a dark and foggy and generally quite wintery mood. I had made an image in relation to it back then as well but it was very speedy and rather shit, and I came across it the other day and thought "Ugh, that won't do." So, I made a new one (I originally did it as a charcoal drawing, but I royally screwed it up, so rather than do it all over again in the same medium I painted it digitally):

The carriage appears every night in the winter, when the ice covers the roads. No one knows who guides its horse; there has never been any sign of a driver. It trundles mournfully along that little trail. The trail no other carriage uses anymore. The one that starts and ends nowhere, with nothing but trees at one end, and nothing but the remains of a large, empty stone house at the other.
    The house belonged to a wealthy man, they say. A man who died quite young; shot after a quarrel with a friend over money. When they found him lying by the gateway to his house, a coin covered each closed eye. His pockets were scratched and torn, and they assumed his assailant had robbed him. Some said, however, they saw magpies in the trees. Dozens of them. And each one held a coin in its beak.
   The house fell into ruin after that; when all the man’s belongings were sold off or given to uncaring relatives.
Years after this, the carriage began appearing. At its arrival at the gate of that murdered man’s house the sound of coins clattering on the hard ground could be heard beside the carriage door. The exact amount for the carriage’s fare, some thought. But, no one could ever get close enough to retrieve those coins as anyone who dared try was attacked by magpies, clawing and flapping at the unlucky individual's face before swooping down to pluck the coins from the ground and flying away to sit in the trees, cackling to each other over their reward.
People tend to ignore the carriage now. They leave the memory of the murdered man, and his wealth, and his carriage to his only friends; the magpies.

There now. A heart-warming story to cheer the spirits on this cold winter's eve...

A friend suggested I turn the story into a poem, as it's short even by the standards of short stories. I like the idea, but I've never been much interested in poetry, with only a few exceptions, and so I feel that any attempt I could make would cause most half-decent poets and appreciators of the art to gouge their eyes out with rage.

Maybe I'll give it an attempt some day.

So, yes! Not much else to say, really, so I suppose I'd better stop.

Turrah for now!

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