Chapter 17

It was like a staircase full of elevators, rising and falling at the beat of evaporated water droplets falling upwards onto the glass ceiling. The room was full of antiquinated music equipment and brass gongols (a mix between a gong and a bell) in shapes varying from dark gold to that of a perfume agitated to the point of near nonexistence. A glass fluit in shape of a cat scurried across the black and white chequered marbled floor. The fluit made a fluid turn behind the nearest tambourine, disappearing from sight.

Every instrument in the room glowed with electricity not unlike of that which one sees before an orchestra is about to start playing. Rays of morpheolite sparks bounced off the antiquated music hall.

Outside, it was a cold evening;

The snow still sat perfectly still. It sat and waited for the first crunch of snow flakes as they underwent a transition to a nonconformitably overly effortless mass of congladulated liquid.

Minutes passed days, days passed the hours, and the years stood nigh motionless in a gaze of admirance thrown onto to the event.

At exactly one minute past midnight, the electric currents flowing and skipping over the instruments, began to hum, barely heard at first, but then gradually growing louder, to the point where sound began to turn to light. Within seconds the room was aglow, on fire and with great fires, matching the shine of the stars themselves.

All went silent. A few moments, about as long as these words in diameter, became a pause. It lasted for a few more moments. Repeated itself once more, and began to speak:

Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight for your subritten listening pleasure, the theater Mon Fantastique presents:

Joy to the world – Handel


It began softly, with a string of strings beaten against trombones, as they smashed out into drums and the revolving oxamaphones, thousands of trumpets broke out in revolutionised chorus of angelic voices. The backup singing was provided by flutes and deglassified cellos, the voices seemed to come from the thin air around the strings of the millions of violins, all playing out of tune with tune. As the symphony roared up and down in every scale possible, the drumrolls were now heard through the symbols of pianos inscripted along the keys of those same said pianos.

As a finishing touch on the finish, three marvelously dressed in colours of purple and red trombones, sounded a lasting roar to allow the next section of the orchestration to begin.

Jupiter – Holst

Rising as if from the depths of Sunday, the everquickening pace of tomorrow made its way across to the land of sound. A sound which released needles and tiny bells from the sharp notes of the violins, backed by great epics of the cellos, winding up a great stomping threefold conversation between the instruments, as they echoed in brass and oak barrels!
The barrel began to sound softer again, with a single composed piece of a musical instrument sounded in through between the cracks.
It sounded brave and beautiful, amids of all the flowers thrown around the stage, of the orchestra, now with a backing of might and glory, the instrument rose to its feet and coiled into a silver bird with a heart of red glass. All of a sudden the glass heart smashed outwards and out of it flew a most brightly coloured firebird, in shades of ultramarine and orange. Landing down to the marbled floor, it turned back into another instrument, leaving the silver statue where it was.
The instrument we speak of now, made the sounds of great winds and firestorms, fueled by the strongest of spirits, of dreams and extrolutions! Rising and releasing a great flash of light, finishing the piece.

Entertainer – Joplin

As the flash cleared itself, an old man was sitting behind the piano on the grand stage.
The man was old, but still retained his youthful features: Such as his single constantly raised eye brow, which sat over the left eye. His smile was that of a confused walrus, which simply wasn't sure what it was doing halfway across china in an opium den. The man opened up his notebook and placed it directly across the major part of the minor piano (which sat in the major piano of course).

He then proceeded to raise his eyebrow up and down. After the fifneath fall of the eyebrow, the piano made a noise of a note being struck by a tiny hammer. It waited, and as if the piano waited all this time for that signal, burst into calculated strokes on the wiring inside the walls of the theater.

It played a short burstle of tones and noted, dropping and rising as soon as they appeared, in a formulated degree of speaking, one could describe the piano to be playing a single melody repeated seven times, with an occasional break to throw the listener off the melody, yet to continue playing the same tune again, and again to the next signifying part which repeated only four times, and abruptly stopped.

The man got up to his feet, raised his eyebrow one last time and dissapeared, replaced by silence.
Fifty nine British cossacks burst into the silence without a moments notice and began to juggle knives and any other objects they could pull from their furry hats!

Sabre Dance – Khachanaturian

Managed to croak out moment, and was instantly replaced by the madmen trio in a madman trio of a trio of madmen dressed in furry hats and shiny bright red coats lappeled with fire. There was almost no pause between the full stop and the first word of this sentence; the time that it took to explain that is how fast the cossacks were running circles around the orchestra if one was to count the middle man. The music was pouring out from every single furtopped hat, it was abrupt and fast, almost as fast as the top speed of an elephant dancing around a jungle campfire. This time, the elephant was actually in the same room as these events, to be more precise it was on the grand stage stomping to a rhythm of a drum dropped down some short stairs a long way down the line.
The cossacks trio of madmen trio bounced around in circles while throwing up various instruments of apple pealing and bottle making. From some of them there were flying sparkler wasps, which illuminated the stage in their colourful effects.

To an untrained eye, there was nothing on the stage but the ravings of a preacher to the ravens.
Yet to a trained eye, the whole hall of carpeted walls and glass ceilings was a mere distraction from the real things existing right there before the very eye of the untrained viewer.

Toccata and Fugue in D minor – Bach

Clearly pronounced the moment, as it stumbled off to the pipe organ. Without a moment to spare, the dark noted smeared in soot smashed against the clean carpets of the walls. Absorbing sound and at the same time brushing some of the soot off the notes, the music was felt.

Harsh, undertoned with undertones of deepseated undertone of all undertones of darkness, sat the moment. Releasing notes of equally harsh harshness from the pipe organ, the moment began to brood. Watching the notes through the eyes of the mirror poised across the furthermost wall of the most recent developments. The moment played. It played with the minds and hearts of rapidly rising and chaotic notes. Smashing them across the hall, into the carpets and walls. As for higher notes it would occasionally release a stream of notes into the glass ceiling, to let it ring out across to the audience.

The moment brooded, and began to let a wail go through the underscore of the crushing waves of music. With a few last touches on the keys, it released the instrument, in a solidly fainting echo.




A pause stretched.. .. ..never paused, just stretched. Then it stopped.

A flurry of colours and checkered marble floor tiles flew up and met with the glass ceiling which was falling downwards with the force of water droplets pushing it up.

The collision sounded across the hall, a great imploding sound, of forty five directionless tubes wrapping around a furry pink and green bottle of trees.

The Orchestration came to an end, a marvel of sound and crushing beauty.
Released, the warm air rushed out to meet its counterpart, while the building continued collapsing onto itself, the baroque statues mixed with the solid forms of art deco. The witty quotes of Oscar Wilde and Windsor Churchill having witty quotes about witty quotes, bounced around the last remaining fabrics of realism, faded, and became snow.

The Years released the building from sight and time continued on as it was before they slowed to a gaze.

It was one o three Am, in the morning.

Nobody was around to see the events, nor would they have believed their ears and eyes when they saw it. The moment, packed up, placed its belongings into a vintage suitcase. Closed its brass clips, and left into the quiet fresh Christmas night, while smoking a black cigarillo from a holder.

Leanard stood on the empty spot where only minutes ago, a most beautiful experience sounded.
He smiled, and wished himself only imaginary.
Joshua woke up.

On the table was yet another suicide/kidnapping/deathnote from Johnathan.
Joshua thought to himself about all those strange moments when he simply not remember whether he was asleep or his alter ego was.