The Twisted Tales

From the storyteller

He sits there, not even brave enough to look you in the eyes as he plays with your emotions. Your heartstrings, your nerves and even your senses become the instruments of his orchestra as his voice taps the keys of the melody of a story. As the melody starts, it resonates with melodies of stories past and you feel comforted, until an unknown key change throws you off and sooner than you realise you have fallen into his grasp. At first, it is like a caress, as the words continue to wrap themselves around your emotions as your brain tries to comprehend what is happening.

Deeper and deeper you are pulled into the story until daylight is a distant memory, and you feel as though you are suffocating in this endless sea of words. You feel as though your emotions are made of lead, and try as you might you cannot prevent the hypnotic effect of the melody from taking you in. It seems that you almost want this more then you want to breathe now, as the melody gets more and more complicated. Each word is a note in this symphony, each becoming more cryptic then the last making you feel like you have now been dragged to the deepest depths of the ocean, where the pressure starts to get to you. You feel like you need to figure out what is happening before it is too late as the pressure increases. However, you have no luck, as the words continue.

You still can't see him, you never have seen him. By now you must think of him as the most sadistic man you have ever met, toying with your emotions as if they were his personal playthings. In some ways, you are right. He doesn't take the power of your emotions for control, but more to help you see. He wants you to see like him, he is trying to open your eyes to the horrors surrounding you every day. The ocean becomes a void, and the void becomes nothing as you start to spin out of control – your breathing a distant memory as you try to find anything to pull into your lungs to survive. Fear rises as you start to choke but still the words march on, deepening the void and making you a part of the story.

Suddenly you are pulled backwards, out of the void faster than you thought possible, the pressure decreasing as you take a large breath. He is there behind you, as a small butterfly passes by your eyes. You thought beauty impossible after the endless void you entered, but there it was as clear as day. In front of you is a large Oak Tree, its branches tall and strong, covered with the tied rope of promises never fulfilled. You look at him, and he smiles. You take the offered hand as you look around the scene. You recognise this one, it is from one of his stories. The air feels fresh, as you look upon the scene.

The world you see now was made by him, and can such beauty ever be made by a monster? The butterfly is graceful and delicate; the grass pristine and kempt. The air is the sweetest you have ever breathed in, and the man next to you stands tall in his red tailcoat. It was his words that made this place, and brought you into it from the dullness of your life; surely he is no monster.

You would be very wrong to think thusly.

The bastard that stands tall next to you only cares in the amount it takes to control you. You see what he sees, because he prevents you seeing anything else. You are in this world so he can control you. The beauty here is the shades of memories long gone, used to trap unfortunate souls. He looks so innocent from the outside, but there is a sadist inside of him that no one ever believed was there. He is free here, free to do as he pleases because he knows you cant talk to the bobbies about some words in a book.

You look to him, and see that the life has been sucked out of his eyes and his smile is gone. He might as well have been made of ice for all the life he shows. Butterfiles lazily fly past you as you look at him, bees buzz across the daisies in the grass and birds chirp in the tree. The sun is soft and warm on your skin, and the gentle breeze rustles the grass. You should feel rested, peaceful here. But the man saps all happiness, all peace and all life from the space around him. Already you can feel the pull of something off, something deeply wrong. You feel disgusted to stand on the hill, as if hundreds of ants were crawling across your body.

You start to flail, to remove the pests, and the man then looks at you properly. He sighs sadly, and steps towards you. He places a hand on your forehead gently, using the tips of his fingers. As soon as the feeling came, it has gone. But now the scene starts to blur, and only the man is in focus. He goes to speak, but holds himself back and turns away.

Suddenly you are back in the real world again. The colours seem washed out and grey after the place or paradise. You re-read the last few words again, to see if you can catch the message he tried to tell you, but you cant. You sit back and breathe deeply, trying to think about what you have just read. While most of you is screaming to go and do something, anything, else; you pick up the book again.

You need to know what he tried to tell you.