Short story in progress...


Silence. We inadvertently abrupted and interrupted this commencing final funeral sermon. Shh! This solemn occasion is lead by our grief stricken chief speaker, Father Hollermer.
-Rest in an honorable peace, our silent souls are forever in need. Now, Monte the Algerian was quite the noble fellow indeed, please you must believe this expandable tryst. His circumspection in the intersection of afterlife’s divinely authoritive direction into these lower, leveled and higher planes of unknown experience provided multiple insightful meanings behind the meetings of three incomprehendible agreements like inferring, purging and parading charades of truth. Did these facts fleet my friends? Surely you all understand the meaning of its importance.
-We’re sure hushed the attendees all clad in dark clothing.
They collectively agreed with the priest’s certain sermon like a curtain unfolding. Proceed.
Hence the historical deed commensed.
(Book closes.)
Now, this beginning to Mr. Monte’s impressionable but most exceptional funeral procesession occurred many a time ago. Long, long before we snored away or were found in the hay by our mothers. These events are surely carved in stone but are so often forgotten by everyone. Unfolding in our current state of historically prevalent sources, it has been further indicated that honorable Monte’s eyelids, ears and mouth were impressed by visions of cataclysmic provisions. By He who created all in his image by infinite knowledge. As the soil we tread stablizes the surface, it shutters with a cluttered, stuttering stammer.
Monte the Algerian gasped. Since time passed so slowly under sediment with Monte engraved in the gravity of earth, collapsed but long since settled, he quickly plotted his unconsciously monstrous escape.
How did I fail you?
Will I awake as prophesied to the second course as morosely as I left it?
These neuron firings clattered instantaneously inside his crown. But how? What is faintly gleaming or appearing as light, shining or streaming but cluttered, uttering recognition to the position in my coffin? Silent understanding wishes this wake to be true. All true. My destiny is not yet fullfilled. If this awareness be a clue to my mythicaltruth, then oh please let these limbs be strong to push up, up and out of here! Up, up and out of here! Our heroically stoic heir pummled forward to the extremities of his corpulent body’s limits in hopes to escape the enclosed abominable cask (a task in itself.) Monte exerted such strong pressure, (oh the pleasure of reaching the surface!) his body poorly measured it’s success. The casket is (crackasmackaclackatackacreeking) attacking my eardrums. It gave! Gravitationally instilled principles are parading my hearing and enclosing my much needed will to breathe. (Cough, cough, whaddahoft! Ho!) Breathe! Breathe! A hand? A man? Verne? At last! I just knew his approachable silent soul churn all by guidance of another higher power waited feverishly for me on the surface!
-Do not stray away oh risen one, lay beside my side throughout this assisted tour no matter what the cost.
-I confide my trust in your wise hands Verne. We previously partnered up on that expedition of the infernal regions last season. Remember?
We found ourselves lost, in this graven cemetery, lonesome and tossed away to dry. All the women cried (Boo-hoo, come again anew!) like sponges wringing out grief-trickling-drops of blinding biblical mourning porportions. Verne wandered ‘round the epitaphs all aligned chanting wonder languages beneath his tongue. (!) The complex multilinguial statements perplexed me. Like he instructed, I joined him to mourn and remember our ancestors. The graveness of the resting places embodying all humanity’s grace brought back my confused thoughts to a climax or crescendo of questioning. Indeed apprehending copiously open respect for those asleep. (Careful not to wake those blessed faces facing west in their quest of the afterlife.) Verne shaken by devine presence, lifted his arm to the shore.
-Monte, we must cleanse our soley shell-like distinguished bodies in the salt-lick, baltic sea. For in order to reach our many destined destinations we must rid ourselves of past baggage and emotional bouders on our shoulders.
The Pilgrim’s Progress.(Admirable Bunyan chap!)
Verne and I followed the stone pathway to forgiveness. The quietness of the earth startled me. While we advanced along the stoned pavement, it came to my attention that there were hardly any trees that normally embody Mother Nature’s awareness. Or any life observable around the area at all for that matter. What a sacred place! How vast, I can hardly grasp it. (Patterthundrunperclap!) Airs above suddenly block by shocking lightning-veins across the blackened clouds. (Oooomblubrubroooom!) Gears shift to the peers and pupils, are you studying your hymnals? Attainment of everlasting ordained prophecies are obtained by Revelation. It is your duty as a student of areas unknown to perceive it.
Thence, our allegorical seeds are referenced.
We arrived at the sea, do you see it? Can you smell the air or hear the clean rushing, green brushing sea-foam-caps topping over eachother nearly reaching my baren feet? That clean, salty atmosphere could alone purge my sins.
-My cunning strumming of moistened sands below lead to purification of all known sins. I could not describe the spectation of it. Monte, cup your hands like so to collect the ocean’s coolness by overrule.
They both soaked amidst enchanted waters. Dip! Monte playfully mocked a baptisimal motion, Lord knows the notion, falling backwards with hands clasping his face. The silent slap pat of water dissappeared, the plunge was most sudden. If only John were here with a lifewand presently entailed of the ancient truth-tell-tale-all! Countless de-railed ideas fell from their tracks. I thought the train left? Oh, but that spiritual bewilderment inside you, it vanishes! For the impieousness of virtuousocity purifies, it identifies this correlated clue. When who alone t’were empty hearts, seated thusly in their due part, factification by aligning categorization in further art, encompassing gestations masserated from the start. Quite capable we were, lofting in the vastness of this foggy shoreline.
-Verne, am I dreaming this infinitesimal comic experience as a vessel for broader knowledge for the incabable?
-I will let our destinations determine exoneration of life. This landscape of shore, of farther father lands, of buildings, of tiny towns, of all the unknown world is under purging purgation principles for all and later history. Mark me my ensemble as proof. (creek-creek) (readies instruments, Kaselya!) A symphoniously syncapated, sinisterly orchestrated symphony as cinematic as the searock’s soundwaves, paralleled its outdated performance to its polyphonic, atmospheric endmass (the ensemble lifted their bows forward and across their reverberating violins, violas, cellos and double-bass strings in sync while the winded winging instruments floated in tune through the sea’s mist chiming behind their atmospheric magnificence gliding across the water) laundering my ears aboard without contorting, hushing or rushing the chorus. If desired or inquired you might be hired Monte’s true identity. Presenting personal purpose actively everyday as reviewed before being revealed accordingly throughout the discourse. (Discharge the white horse!) So, henceforth, idle minds will be thee devil’s playlay. Cato! In a melee of sorts, rays come nay absorbed. This malice in the callousness of they, the nations paralysis, stays the same being blamed all day. Over, over there! See it? Lesser here. Not so much. But right in the middle! Smack dab in this fab map! A mount. Mount Lurgitory. It elevates up to seven levels of sin. A vary dark hallway between earthliness and the almighty heaven. In that sudden spectacle, the intersecting storm made haste to hault revealing glimpses of an enchanted night enduring. Alluring my eyes toward four stars in particular. The Pisces light.

Short story in progress...

Spencer Crutcher

Champaign, United States

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