fiction - brigits_flame - beat
Feb. 6th, 2009 04:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwangoThis is my entry for the writing activity on the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
brigits_flame community. The prompt for this week was "Beat."
In the flickering shadows of the fire, the wrinkles in the old man's skin appear even deeper than they truly are. He sits motionless and silent, testing the patience of his audience. A boy fidgets and earns a piercing glare that both shames and terrifies him back to stillness. After another moment, the old man is satisfied. He begins.
"For the unquiet dead, there is no sound louder than the beating of a heart, for no other sound causes them such pain. A laugh, a sigh, a cheer – these things are sharp, brief agonies. They are echoes of only tiny fragments of the lives that are now denied to the dead. The heartbeat, though, is a relentless, constant reminder of all that they have lost."
"You may think that you have mastered stealth because you can approach to within an arm's reach a rabbit or a gazelle, but to the unquiet dead you are shouting your position just by being alive."
"With stealth impossible, we rely instead upon deception. We rely upon confusion. And though it may seem foolish beyond all reason, we rely upon angering them enough to make them careless."
"These are the weapons of the Drummer, just as the spear and sacred water are the tools of the Hunter. The Drummer mimics the beating of many hearts, masking your numbers. He creates false echoes and disguises your position. And, when the time is right, he becomes the bait for the trap. He plays the song of a heartbeat so full of life and joy that the unquiet dead cannot abide it even for a moment. Without the song, the unquiet dead remain silent killers who strike without warning and depart before they can even be seen. The song makes them foolish with rage, and they waste no time with stealth. They are heard, they are seen, and the Hunters do their work."
"It is difficult and dangerous work to be a Drummer. You must master your fears, lest your own heartbeat overwhelm the sound of your drum. You must be able to play a song vibrant with passion and joy even as the hungry dead close in around you. If you fail in your task, you doom the whole of the hunting party. You and your comrades will become that which you sought to destroy. It is a terrible responsibility."
"Think well on your choice. Be sure you truly have the courage and spirit for the burden that will be placed upon you."
Here the old man pauses and gives his audience time to think on what he has said. Some of those seated before him rise to their feet and step away from the fire, heads hanging in shame. Many stay. When the old man is satisfied that no more of them will give up before the work has even begun, he picks up his drum.
"Now, I will teach you to be Drummers."
brigits_flame community. The prompt for this week was "Beat." In the flickering shadows of the fire, the wrinkles in the old man's skin appear even deeper than they truly are. He sits motionless and silent, testing the patience of his audience. A boy fidgets and earns a piercing glare that both shames and terrifies him back to stillness. After another moment, the old man is satisfied. He begins.
"For the unquiet dead, there is no sound louder than the beating of a heart, for no other sound causes them such pain. A laugh, a sigh, a cheer – these things are sharp, brief agonies. They are echoes of only tiny fragments of the lives that are now denied to the dead. The heartbeat, though, is a relentless, constant reminder of all that they have lost."
"You may think that you have mastered stealth because you can approach to within an arm's reach a rabbit or a gazelle, but to the unquiet dead you are shouting your position just by being alive."
"With stealth impossible, we rely instead upon deception. We rely upon confusion. And though it may seem foolish beyond all reason, we rely upon angering them enough to make them careless."
"These are the weapons of the Drummer, just as the spear and sacred water are the tools of the Hunter. The Drummer mimics the beating of many hearts, masking your numbers. He creates false echoes and disguises your position. And, when the time is right, he becomes the bait for the trap. He plays the song of a heartbeat so full of life and joy that the unquiet dead cannot abide it even for a moment. Without the song, the unquiet dead remain silent killers who strike without warning and depart before they can even be seen. The song makes them foolish with rage, and they waste no time with stealth. They are heard, they are seen, and the Hunters do their work."
"It is difficult and dangerous work to be a Drummer. You must master your fears, lest your own heartbeat overwhelm the sound of your drum. You must be able to play a song vibrant with passion and joy even as the hungry dead close in around you. If you fail in your task, you doom the whole of the hunting party. You and your comrades will become that which you sought to destroy. It is a terrible responsibility."
"Think well on your choice. Be sure you truly have the courage and spirit for the burden that will be placed upon you."
Here the old man pauses and gives his audience time to think on what he has said. Some of those seated before him rise to their feet and step away from the fire, heads hanging in shame. Many stay. When the old man is satisfied that no more of them will give up before the work has even begun, he picks up his drum.
"Now, I will teach you to be Drummers."
