Here are three short scenes I wrote between Christmas and New Year – they might be part of the Circle of Fifths story, they might not…
One: A Conversation
“Of course, you know everything fails, eventually. In time this Circle will fail. Like all the others. It must. It will.”
“They will try though, won’t they?”
“Oh yes, yes, they will try! They will expend a great deal of energy but they will falter.
“What happens then?”
“They can embrace the other or they can fall into darkness.”
“They still get to choose?”
“Yes, my child! Everything in the universe gets to choose, even to the very last. There is always a choice. The universe is filled with choices. What most beings don’t understand is that the universe is also filled with consequences. Point and counterpoint. The five are fallible and ultimately, they will be unable to sustain the universal orchestras. The music will cease and this will all fall back into nothing.
Then, for a perfect moment, before it all begins anew, we will have beautiful, uninterrupted silence.”
Two: A Place to Rest
The cottage stood squat and solid, resisting whatever the skies and the valley pushed against its thick walls. For generations the dark slate sat atop the rough stone, grey pressing onto grey, digging into the rich, dark earth. The door to the cottage faced the narrow road, a deep blue portal that protected the quiet interiors from the outside world. On dark days, when cold rain lashed the hillside and slicked the slate and the stone, a golden glow filled the windows with a warm radiance and the promise of biscuits. On brighter days when the heat that rolled across the valley stifled the breezes the windows were shaded and cool. A counterpoint that promised solace and rest.
Whatever happened in the wider world, the stone and the slate offered the respite and the comfort that its occupants needed.
Three: Emyr Talks to The Herald
Pulling the blue door closed behind him Emyr stepped out into the damp chill of the winter’s afternoon. He lugged the recycling bag to the corner of the house. When he had finished putting everything into the correct bins he stood up and took a deep breath; the smell of damp leaves clung to the cold air, the hazy sun cast silver streaks across the eggshell sky. Melodies hung about the cottage like old streamers the day after a party. Emyr stretched his spine and then pulled his cardigan tighter across his chest.
From the corner of his eye he saw a familiar shimmer, a condensing of energy and rhythm by the garden gate. Emyr smiled and waved to The Herald.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Emyr called out as he walked down the path.
“I wanted to congratulate you,” The Herald smiled, Emyr looked puzzled. “Budapest was a triumph!”
“You were there?”
“I have been to every one of your premieres.”
“Really? Both of them!”
“I will be at all of them.”
Emyr’s cheeks flushed pink, “I still think the second movement lacks something.”
“I haven’t understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it,” The Herald smiled. “Stravinsky, a complicated fellow, you would have liked him!”
“You’re comparing me to Stravinsky?”
“Maybe, I have said too much.”
Emyr laughed.
The Herald glimmered for a moment then looked distracted, Emyr followed his gaze back to the house. A soft golden glow spilled out of the windows onto the icy lawn. In the warmth of family room, bright cartoons played on the television as the twins raced round in an elaborate game involving two dinosaurs and a hastily constructed Lego spaceship. Beyond them, snuggled deep into an armchair half reading a book, half looking at the twins, and finishing off the good biscuits, sat Noah.
“On the other side of the Circle I met Mam. We sat in that room, we had tea and biscuits,” Emyr looked at his family, he shivered as a cool, fresh breeze blew down the hill. “We had a really good talk. I think we both wish it could have been longer. There never feels like there is enough time. You know? Oh, you might not get that; I mean you’re eternal right? Or as near as.”
“Emyr,” The Herald faltered.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to worry anymore because I know. I know. I know that you’re not my father. She told me about my dad, those few weeks they had together and what it meant to her. What he meant to her. I am beginning to understand the choices that she had to make. I know what it cost her. In so many ways we were alone. Cut off. The other sirens didn’t understand her, or they thought she was mad. Even with Carol on her side the others always made Mam feel separate, apart. And when my troubles began that only widened the chasm.
But when I look back into my childhood, if I concentrate, if I hone in on a specific moment, in amongst all the clamour and the noise, I can hear you. Your music. Your song. You are woven into almost every aspect of my life, every key change, every significant movement.”
In the distance a lone owl called out. As it slid away the sun burnished the edges of the distant hills and stars began to sparkle in the twilight. Emyr’s eyes glistened.
For a moment they drank in the silence.
“Do you know what I tell my kids?” Emyr placed a hand on The Herald’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I tell them all about Mam, I mean this is her house. She is in every stone and corner and cobweb! I want them to know her as well as they can. But I need to be honest with them too so I tell them that, like them, I never knew my real dad. He couldn’t be there for me, for various reasons. I have promised myself that I will tell them more as they get older. I have told them that it made me very sad at first but, in the end, it was all okay because I always had a guardian angel.”
“I,” The Herald gazed up into the darkening sky and for a moment looked as if he wanted to leave. “I do not know what to say.”
“Why not come in and say hello?” Emyr smiled and led the way.
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