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[Feb. 9th, 2009|04:09 pm] |
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The Match
It was a dark, dark world. There was no light whatsoever, no matter how hard you looked. Even if you had infra-red goggles, you wouldn't be able to detect any light. Even if you ate all the carrots this side of the river, you still wouldn't, just couldn't see any light. Even if - oh, you get the idea. As a match, you would expect some form of relief in living in such a place. But no, it is not so, it is not so. I know such a match, though I do not know his name (he wouldn't tell me). At one time, he could have told you the wonders of the world, when he was a working, well-lit match (with education in the brightest of institutes). But as the 'everything must come down' theory always seems to have its way, this match wasn't as he used to be. He was broken, burnt out, and the darkness was making him stupid. Mother of course couldn't stand for this, and tossed him out on his own, into the dark, dark world.
With nothing to do, the match felt his way around the world. His sight adjusted accordingly, and, on a good day, he might have seen the glow of a bats eyes right before it flew into his face (often resulting in a bite). With such an awful existance, the little match exclaimed,
"Its just so awful, I'll throw myself off the bridge so I won't have to fumble around in the dark any longer."
But since he couldn't find the bridge to begin with, that idea was scrapped.
So he stumbled miserably in the dark. Not long after (in the dark, that could mean any length of time), the match ran into something that was also moving. Not having seen, or felt rather, another live being for some time, he was frightened. But because he couldn't see him, her or it, the match simply shouted,
"Watch yourself! I may be small and useless, but I can run! You'll never find me no matter how long you look."
"You'll never find me with that way of thinking!" A loud, echoing voice boomed back. "Why do you shoo me away when you've never asked a question or offered a 'how do you do'? Honestly, it seems like a natural thing to start with. Or do you like being alone in this dark?"
"That's a lot of words." The match didn't know what to think. But, seeing as he couldn't even begin to string a sentence that would satisfy this enigmatic being, he did his best to be polite, "I'm sorry, let's start again. Say, I don't know, but do you know any place where we could get out of this perpetual darkness?"
"Lots," echoed the voice again. Other noises resembling various toots and honks were heard as well, but the match considered them negligable. Maybe the voice had a cold. "But let me tell you who I am, so you know how to spot me when we get to the light."
"Go on!" Blurted the match.
"I am known as the Great Organ Grinder. I look as I am called."
"Splendid!" Said the match ,but he was thinking something more hurtful. Not to be rude, the little match said nothing.
The match did not see, but heard the next chain of events. First they plod, plod, plodded their way through what the match believe to be (and hoped was) muck, then up, up a dark staircase to goodness knows where, and finally down, down, down to their destination (only because they had tripped over a loose stone, making their descent much quicker).
"We are here!" Bellowed the Great Organ Grinder, accompanied by toots and whistles of course. The little match , rubbing his bruises from the fall, said nothing and wearily stepped forward into the sudden creak and grind of large, heavy, unfathomably slow gates. The poor match could only cower.
Frightened, he opened his eyes...
...and was instantly blinded by the splash of light peeping from the door. It was no large amount of light, but any light at all was a strain on the poor matches' eyes. He gave his eyes a harsh rubbing (that would teach them) and the blindness soon wore off. Ever so carefully, he tiptoed his way forward, following the Great Organ Grinder into the dimly lit expanse, past the creaky, giant gates. For the first time, he got a good look at a lot of things.
The match hadn't seen himself in some time, and was sastonished at how much he let himself go. He was once a clean, well kept, and dashing match, but because of his carelessness he was not muddy, ruddy, and stank like nothing you could ever imagine (but I suppose he could have known that without sight). The Great Organ Grinder caught his eye. Seeing his new friend for the first time, he indeed look as he sounded - many horns and pipes emerged from his back, and he was coated with a lovely wooden varnish that shone pale in the dim light. The little match was jealous - even if the Great Organ Grinder had a wit as dim as the room, which became painfully obvious once the match noticed a finger jammed up his nostril.
The obvious question came forth, "What now?" asked the match.
"Not sure," a loud reply from the Great Organ Grinder answered. The match got a good look at his teeth this time, which were ivory white piano keys (except, unlike a piano, they were crooked). In fact, everything about the Great Organ Grinder had a musical whimsy to it. "That explains the windy whistle sounds he makes," the match thought to himself.
"We could go to my house. It's not far. It's not really a house, either, but its a place to stay, anyway." The Ogran Grinder chided. "Great Organ Grinder.. can I just call you GOG? I think I'll do that. I would love very much to see your home. But I am very hungry, you see."
"Sure, you can call me GOG, but I don't understand why. There's lots of funny fruits and nuts on the way, not to mention a different kind of nut we may also run into, but let's hope it won't come to that. Let's go!"
The little match didn't like the sound of that. It made him uneasy.
But away they went anyway, and the little match saw many odd things he could not have ever thought of seeing before. Trees with rooted tops and leafy bottoms, rivers that ran upwards towards the sky, and all kinds of odd bugs and fauna and flora that dazzled the mind. Of course, there was the aforementioned fruit and nuts, but as the match would grab for it, it would hiss back at him, and he soon lost his appetite.
It wasn't before long that came across a sign that read "Hold down the River".
"What does that mean?" The match asked, confused. "Surely you can't hold down a river, it just wouldn't work."
"I know, I tried once," The GOG replied, "That was when the Javaator arrived and attacked me, stealing my wallet and all other things I had on me. He even stole ont of my pipes." He pointed to a hole in his back. "It makes me angry just to think about it."
It was at that moment the little Match realized that the GOG was about to get a bit angrier. In the distance there was a lanky, slim figure watching them from atop a roof, presumeably of his own house. Both the figure and the house had a sinister look, showing tones so dull and dreary it made even this dim dark seem comforting. Not a moment later the figure spoke,
"Javaator, I see the lunch I missed yesterday, Javaator. I have those things I stole still in my house, would you like them back, Javaator? I will give them back to you if you do something for me. The river is much too deep for me to cross, would you push it down for me? And I will give you back what is yours, Javaator."
It's voice slid and slipped like the slimiest of slugs, making the little match shudder. The GOG seemed unaware, and a bit incoherent. He started lumbering towards the figure, but the match quickly held him back. "Don't you recognise him? He must be the Javaator! And what was that he said about his 'missed lunch'? I'm betting he meant you!" Squealed the match. The GOG did not pay attention, "My missing pipe is very important to me, and getting my wallet back would be nice, too. Maybe he;s telling the truth! He can't be all bad." The face of the Javaator curled up into a sneer, the sound of claws scraping across his roof came from behind his back, and the match got angry.
"Don't you go near him, GOG! He's nasty and wicked, I can tell it! He's making me so angry I-" and the match lit up! A bright flame burst from the top of his head, burning both him and the GOG. The Javaator jumped and hissed, as the light was too much for him. He scratched at his eyes and tumbled off of his roof into the rushing, gushing river below. He gargled, spluttered, and was soon carried away.
"Well, that was an unexpected turn of events." Mused the GOG.
"Most turns of events ARE unexpected, friend, otherwise nothing would be worth remembering."
"I suppose you stopped me from getting into a kerfuffle. Shall we continue to my house? I would be glad to let you stay with me, as the light you carry is quite useful. Look, I can even see it from here now!"
The match thought to himself. He had been through the dark for so long he did not remember what it was like to have a home or friends, or a light to go by. He looked up at the GOG, and his silver smile, and smiled himself.
"Alright, but watch where you blow all that hot air from those pipes! I don't want to lose my light again," he chimed, and they were on their way.
The End. |
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kirbaroonie's journal
content
Bewildered
On so many levels.
silly
sleepy
confused
chipper
blah
cold
enthralled
lazy
tired