The Fall

It was the next day that my final descent into darkness began. My descent into mania. As if I had forgotten the last two days of sheer madness I took the harp. I lifted it into my sitting room, sat it at the armchair by my window. I yanked a broken spring out of the chair, opened the mould encrusted window and sucked a drag out a cigarette. Then I stretched out my hand, and played.

 Just one note at first, a light, gentle note. The note seemed to manifest into colour that seeped down the strings and I was filled with a strange sort of childlike happiness. I chuckled to myself as I began to pluck the strings. I had never played before but the knowledge seemed to be inherent. A sweet song I played, it was calm like the trickle of a stream but as otherworldly as a dream.

 Colour seeped from the harp and filled my room, turned it into a giant three dimensional painting, nothing was real now but I did not care. I played and laughed, the colour danced to my music and wriggled playfully at my chuckles. I had never felt such joy.

 I played for hours but the time came where I had to stop. When I did so the colour stopped and began to peel from the walls and floor and slide back into the harp. To my surprise my room faded with it. It all disappeared into the harp and left nothing but a black, empty abyss that I found myself suspended in.

 “It’s my birthday.” A faint whisper echoed in the dark.

 “Who are you?” I asked.

 “Do you like your gift?” The whisper asked me. Its voice soothed my soul and lulled me into a soft contentedness. I did not reply, I simply nodded.

 “Perhaps you should share the gift I have given you?”

 “I will share my gift.”

 “It is my birthday. Spread your music to your kind, for you are my harp player, and the people will reach me.”

 “I will.”

 The whisper began to giggle. Innocently, like a school girl playing with a skipping rope. Suddenly the harp began to play itself and colour leaked from it again. Out of the colour came the three formless men from my dream, the two doves and the crow flew from their shoulders and the men’s arms gestured me to follow. I did so without complaint. I flew slowly after the birds, the harp followed of its own accord. Playing its own cords and continuing to fill the void with colour. A white light appeared before me and as I went I heard the whisper say once more.

 “I am Nyarthlutath, and its my birthday.”

The End

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