I am indulging tonight in a little mental musical theatre...
I find myself, at the beginning of the dream, sitting in the top stand of a stadium overlooking a freshly groomed racetrack, and beyond the starting gates stomp furious, excited horses, eager to break free of their confines and race the wind in their souls.
So naturally I think of My Fair Lady and, willing myself into a gloriously striped outfit, wiggle down through the crowds to the front of the stadium.
The starting gun is raised- anticipation is high, the crowds in a politely escalating rapture, waiting for that moment of defining:
BANG!
And just as the first shot is fired, horses speeding down the dusty fare, a man falls from the stands onto the ground below, his form laying there, limp- and before anyone can save him- the horses rush past, a fury of hooves...and he is trampled.
The crowds go silent.
The jockeys slow their mounts moments after they notice the fall, but it only takes seconds to do the sort of damage which now clutters the field....
Why would a man just fall into the track?
I rush down to the body, pushing through the circle of spectators which has gathered, and bend down to examine him. There are the typical signs of pulverization, but the body is not as warm as it should be, the blood not as plentiful, for such a recent wound. Why would someone kill a man, then go to such lengths to publicly disguise it in such a poor way? Perhaps for need of an alibi? Strange...
The police inspector shuffles his way through the crowd, edging out towards the body, and steps with a crunch on something I had missed-
There, near the hand of the outstretched body, lies a small silver locket.
As I converse with the inspector, looking for clues to solve this murder mystery, a high, lilting music starts up from somewhere in the stands. The crowd turns around, searching, for it seems to be coming from several places at once, the voice of a young boy-- but as we turn our attention back to the body- it is gone!
At first I assume sleight of hand, and look wildly for a paunchy person in an overcoat shuffling the body away from the scene of the crime- but no one could've escaped the circle without being noticed. It has to be magic...
I try to dig deeper into my mind to find out what exactly would be required to work this kind of trickery, when a shout clear as dawn distracts my attention:
"KILL ALL THE INFIDELS!!!"
And flying horsemen leap over the stadium and onto the crowd below. In the chaos, the story is changing...
People running in waistcoats and frocks melt into turbaned camel herders, as desert sands whip in fury around our heads. The attackers are wolves now, ravenous and wily, and as I edge into a more defensive position, I realize with chagrin- I am still wearing my Audrey Hepburn dress.
I am about to change when the inspector, knees shaking, comes up behind me, and putting a hand on my shoulder, quavers: "It's all changin', miss- I don't understand, what's going on? What foul demon brought us here? How are we to retain our sanity?"
"Well," I reply, hitching up my skirts and peering out into the violence-infested storm: "We can pray that our sanity looks after itself. Right now, we've got worse things to worry about. Let's try to find some shelter."
As it turns out, we were transported to the outskirts of a village near a river. As night falls and the wind gradually lessens, we sneak down to the water and wash off the crust of sand caked on our skin and clothes. I'm still buggered, though. I really wanted to solve that case.
"We were lucky that wind didn't take the flesh off our bones, my dear," the inspector pants, flopping on the bank of the river and mopping his brow with a relatively clean handkerchief.
I am about to respond, when the scene changes again, and we've barely had time to catch our breath when we are hurled into a maelstrom rising from the river, suddenly engulfed in a sea of swimming horses, saddles on their backs but no riders...
As we struggle to stay afloat, a staircase appears in the middle of the whirlpool, spiraling slowly upward into the darkening night sky. We swim towards it, latching onto the banister and pulling ourselves up out of the deadly sweep of the waves. My dress is really getting quite ruined. I glance upward to the top of the staircase, which grows ever distant- and catch a flash of light; something is dangling off the banister. I gather my heavy skirts and, wringing them out as I run, make my way to the top where I find:
The silver locket from the dead man's hand.
Perhaps this isn't a physical murder at all. Perhaps this is a part of someone else's mind- someone that enjoys watching horse races and knows the sea- someone that just recently received bad news that shocked them to the core...enough that they feel people should know they are dying inside, besieged by horrible thoughts- but no one can see the mark of their pain...
I lift the locket from the banister, running my fingers over it.
I find the catch, and open it.
No comments:
Post a Comment