Black Hull (33 page)
Authors: Joseph A. Turkot
“From what time and place do you come?”
he asked, smiling.
They twirled about in strange harmony,
spirits that seemed to know one another already: his arm explored, his fingers
vagabonds. She breathed a hot secret into his ear:
“Here I am,” she said.
She’d said that. And what had it meant?
The night wore on between dance and wine
and concertos. A separation began, spirits departing, leaving one another to
rejoin their solitary dreams.
“Will we meet again?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll find you later.”
“There is no later,” she smiled. “Just
now.”
“Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in
his shade.”
She looked at him, wondering at his
strangeness.
Mick pulled her into his chest. Kissed
her. Strange old flavor. The bravado of now, roused by her, swept over him and
took control.
Enough to show I understand?
“So long as men can breathe or eyes can
see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
She departed into the alien night, her
fingers the last to slip away. Blue eyes under dark brows went, with them the
heat of unending desire.
With black finality, the cosmos
collapsed in upon itself. A million starts fired at the same time, and a
million universes released. One ended and an infinite more began. Each
magnitude relative to the next, voiced a mantra, though inaudible it was, for
it had never met an intelligence capable of listening to it: it was a note,
however, which one species of life had nearly heard.
A thing of
beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
–From
Endymion,
by John Keats 1818
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Black Hull
. I
sincerely hope you enjoyed this episode, and will keep reading each new episode
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BIO
I
grew up and still live in New Jersey. I started writing and drawing at a young
age. Growing up, I often daydreamed that I was A) Luke Skywalker, B) A hobbit,
or C) Goku/Bruce Lee, depending upon what day it was. Today, I love to craft my
own worlds and stories, fill them with characters, and paint their stories.