I am a writer, or at least I was. I spent day after day of my life writing short stories that never had an ending, never even looked at by anyone. Every story I wrote was slightly less complete than the last, slightly less imaginative. Until eventually I gave up.
It was a dark night in my apartment when it all began, I had just spent the last hour sat on my rotten arm chair in the corner of my sitting room, blowing smoke rings out of my dirty, fly specked window. My face had started to go numb from the cold wind that insisted on forcing its way through the fog of the night and into the shelter of my home.
Skipping my meal I went to what passed for a bed, a dirty matress dumped in the side of the room, springs poking out of it and a hole in the side that some cockroaches found comfortable enough to make it their home. It was here on that night that something happened that sent my existance plummeting into the hellish abyss.
It was a wide open field, covered expansively by orange grass that grew to the knee and swayed to the mystic sound of a chorus of harps in the distance. The sky was a riot of colour, great blots of red, pink, purple and brown, all fading into eachother and falling away, dancing in the sky to the harp.
Three men approached me, all wearing tunics of twigs and leaves. Doves sat on the shoulder of two, a crow on the other. They were followed by empty bodies, wearing all kinds of clothes but no substantial form to fill them. The first man spoke to me:
"We are here, come to us and find what you seek."
"What do I seek?" I replied, the man did not answer, instead he faded away leaving his clothes and his dove intact and still moving inexorably towards me. The second man then spoke to me:
"We are close, you will find us. Just beyond."
"Beyond what!" I demanded of the second man, he dissapeared as the first did.
"Play the harp of the colour. For it is her birthday." The third man said. He faded away before I could reply, then so too did everything. I found myself left in a great emptyness.
I looked around but nothing was there, even my own body no longer held a form. Then the harp began to play again. It appeared in the distance and I moved towards it, my heart filled with awe and wonder as the harp came almost within my grasp.
Suddenly it stopped playing, colour began to leak from it and fill the void. It surrounded me and began to lift me, a great warmth filled my heart and then the colour disappeared again.
Then I saw it, what it was I cannot say. For it was a horror indescribable, it hovered before me, its dark, green, snake like eyes staring at me, piercing my very soul and freezing me with terror. It held the harp out to me, I took it. Then the thing suddenly began to stretch, it became a twisting insanity that surrounded me, penetrated me. Like a hurricane of madness it pushed me and pulled me, it began to laugh, a hideous screeching laughter. Then it abrutly dissapeared again, leaving only an echo:
"Its my birthday." The echo whispered.
I awoke screaming, sweat pouring from my body, then another horror aroused my extreme terror. In the darkness of my dank apartment I noticed in the corner of the room a golden glow. I moved slowly, past the buckets I had layed out for the express purpose of catching the water leaking through the ceiling. Across the wooden floor that cracked and creaked with every feverish step I took. The glow grew stronger. My heart pounded. Utter terror beat savagely at my throat, desperate to tear out and let itself be known to the entire world. Finally I saw what it was and the terror escaped, I dropped and began screaming of the feet of it. How it was possible I do not know, but I know what I saw. It was that abhorrent harp, stood neatly in the corner of my room, looking as if it had never had any other home.