Marion didn’t stay out all night (part 1)
“Being a singer and a genius is really tough.” thought Spark, taking a quick glance at his black, worn-out shoes. He was trying to write a song. He decided to write a song. He cried and threw a tantrum to write a song. But in fact, he had little, if not zero, experience in writing even ten sentences, so naturally, writing a song wasn’t the easiest task under the bright sky. His band of troubadours left him. And there was no one under the bright sun who could provide him with a shelter.
I’m sitting on a rock
But this is in fact grass…
Rock sounds cool
But grass is softer than that…
No, no, this wasn’t the right song. He knew he should write a sad love song. He should make those thousands of girls palpitate and lose consciousness (and wallets). It should have been a song that can move the mountains, that can cause the sky to cry, that can stop the storm… His shoes looked as if they started to resent him and didn’t want to help. So he stopped looking at them and instead looked around.
He was sitting on the grass, the forgotten now lyrics were true. He noticed strange faces of the people that passed by, but it didn’t make a big impression on him. Spark was used to it ever since he was a kid. He had to hold of a parasol to protect his skin from sun, but it raised many eyebrows. Many well trimmed eyebrows and many unkempt ones as well. This was how the band of troubadours found him. They decided that a girl would collect money from spectators easily. When they realised how big mistake they made, it was already too late. The fair boy was doing just fine.
In the same time a young lady was looking outside the window in her high tower. She was kept there because of her wild past, and her father wanted to give her hand to a candidate who hasn’t heard of her escapades. And it looked like the candidate has been found. Yesterday his soldiers dragged to the castle some nice, young boy who hasn’t heard of our beautiful Marion. That is why this mighty lord ordered to gather all musicians outside the castle walls and bring them to celebrate.
— Miss, you should pay attention to learning more.
Marion sighted and looked around. It was her French tutor. Her father wanted her to learn that strange, sissy language, but she had no idea why. Her country was far, far away, behind the seven seas, and seven mountains, and no one could care less about any French.
— Yes, yes, je suis… je… Aw, fuck!
— That is not French, mademoiselle.
— What gazelle?
Knowing that her pupil was absolutely beyond any other, French tutor decided to leave.
This evening Marion was dressed in her best scarlet, velvet dress. The candidate for her hand looked as if he had a blade close to his ribs. When she greeted him, she asked for musicians. She had something for musicians. Two years ago she eloped with one, but left him halfway, because he could not sing her favorite tune “With Words”, that was the musical leitmotif in the performance called “I Am Beautiful”. If only she could meet the fair boy from that performance! He was just collecting money, but she remembered how their eyes met.
Suddenly she stood as if struck by a lightning. (time to explain, dear listeners, that the author has no idea why somebody struck by the actual lighting should be standing still. But this is price we gladly pay for some beautiful metaphores. We sacrifice the reason on the altar of poetry, b-flat!)
Few paces apart, a young fair boy stood. She recognized him immediately. The same gaudy dress, the same pendants… Ah, t’was her boy from the yore!
Slight, unpleasant smile appeared on her angelic face. Her father wanted her to marry some frightened boy who could tell how much is two times two, but he didn’t say she can’t marry the idea of beauty…
(to be continued…)