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<blockquote data-quote="maxfieldjadenfox" data-source="post: 2725394" data-attributes="member: 18003"><p>Okey dokey, here is my CDM story... Done counts for something, right?</p><p></p><p>Topsy Turvey</p><p>By Maxfieldjadenfox</p><p></p><p></p><p>The first soft notes of the chanter were almost inaudible, but slowly, they grew louder, and louder and louder until it was hard to keep from putting your hands over your ears to muffle the sound. The song was discordant, ugly and willful, like a cross between fusion jazz and death metal. The player of this mad melody was a gargoyle named Neville. Neville had once been employed at Notre Dame Cathedral, but he was undependable and had a penchant for hanging upside down, spewing water up onto the roof instead of fountaining it down like a good waterspout gargoyle should. In fact, Neville was as contrary as any gargoyle ever chipped from stone. When he began to play the pipes, the effect was so stunningly terrible that the bladder was taken from him, leaving him with the chanter until he got better or learned to control himself. Unfortunately, neither of these things happened, his music was as awful and destructive 800 years later, which is when this story begins. </p><p></p><p>Jacob was late. He was late and he was pissed at himself because Mr. Manders had said if he was late one more time, he was fired. Jacob couldn’t afford to be fired. He had just bought a new car, a Beemer, which he felt befit his position as an up and coming junior, junior executive at Manders, Finch and Sloan, and he wasn’t going to blow it because of a stupid frozen waffle. The waffle had gotten stuck in the toaster, and had set off the smoke detector and that had brought the landlord which had led to an angry confrontation, but that didn’t matter. Jacob was late, and he had to make up for lost time. As he tied his purple and green tie while trying to finish his coffee and grab his briefcase, he thought he heard music. Well, that was a charitable description, it was a series of bleated notes that made his head ache and set an odd tingle running at the back of his neck. The music seemed familiar somehow. For a moment, he remembered a dream he had been having, just before he woke up. It hovered at the edge of his mind, but then it was gone. Jacob shook his head. Must be those neighbors upstairs.</p><p>‘Jeez, how can people listen to that crap?’ he thought as he climbed behind the wheel of Black Beauty. Nobody knew he had named the car, especially after an old kid’s book character, a girl kid’s book character. He had an image to protect. He revved the engine, not taking the time to let his gem warm up slowly as he usually did. </p><p>“Sorry, girl,” he said, ‘I promise this won’t happen again.” He gunned the engine and the back wheel popped the curb. He narrowly missed old Miss Franklin, walking her sausage-like pug, Winston. She shook her cane at him and he yelled “sorry” out the window. Blasting up the 105, radio cranked to drown out the memory of the weird tune, Jacob looked at his Rolex. “Ten til eight. I might still make it.” He pressed the accelerator harder and saw the speedometer shoot up to 110. “Now that’s more like…” </p><p></p><p>Neville’s tune reached it’s crescendo. </p><p></p><p>Jacob’s eyes returned to the road in front of him just in time to see the mini van. </p><p>“Oh, shi…” </p><p></p><p>Trooper Dan Stevenson got the call. A wreck on the 105. A bad one. Sirens wailed their way to the scene, Black Beauty inverted, crumpled and smoking , Jacob hanging from the seat belt. Nearby, the mini van, smashed, windshield shattered. The sound of a child’s wailing came from what was left of the back seat. The firemen and paramedics employed the jaws of life as the woman driver of the van, amazingly alert and uninjured, said over and over, </p><p>“He just came out of nowhere.”</p><p></p><p>Jacob heard the sirens. He also heard something else, that damned song he had been hearing all morning. He gradually became aware of an odd pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was suddenly flying over a deep forest. The song was louder here, and as he watched, something seemed to be happening to one of the trees. It’s leaves were turning grey, as if they were slowly being drained of their color. Above, he saw what looked like DNA molecules floating in the sky, twisting and winding around themselves and each other. He landed with a thud near the trunk and saw that it had turned to stone. He closed his eyes and found himself on a plinth, in the moonlight. That was odd enough, but he seemed to be standing on his hands. “I must be hallucinating,” he thought, “or maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is the afterlife?” He pondered this for a moment. Why would he be standing on his hands on a plinth in the afterlife? He had never been athletic, how was he doing this incredibly long handstand now? He couldn’t feel his body. He knew it was there, because he could see it, but it was as if he were carved out of stone, just like the tree. He stayed that way for a long while, as the sky went from indigo to grey blue and finally to the rosy hue of dawn. Then he heard the music again, more discordant, louder, more insistent. He strained to see where it was coming from, and to his surprise, his eyes made out something coming toward him, something grotesque, stomping along on stumpy legs. It had red eyes and pointed ears, or were they horns? A cowled hood and a rough brown robe, like those worn by monks in the olden days. At it’s lips was a chanter from a set of bagpipes, but somehow it was making a noise like a jet engine. Jacob wished he could plug his ears, but his hands were frozen fast to the plinth, and all he could do was suffer as the awful melody vibrated through his body. Soon all of the trees were drained of their color, and then the ground nearby. Everything had taken on the look of icy marble. The gargoyle smiled, and placed the chanter to his lips again. </p><p></p><p>Jacob was back in his bed. The melody, if you could call it that, was fading. He looked over at his dresser at the digital alarm clock. 7 AM. Next to the clock was Julie’s ceramic peacock music box, and her pearls. What the? Hadn’t she taken them with her when she left him? </p><p>Jacob shook his head hard. </p><p>“Sweetie, get up. You’re going to be late.” </p><p>Julie was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was wearing the blue terrycloth bathrobe he had given her for her birthday. She was beautiful. What was she doing here? </p><p>“Seriously. Here. How about some music to start your day?”</p><p>She picked up the peacock and twisted the key on the bottom. A melody began to play. </p><p>“I know this song,” he said, “It’s the one that the gargoyle in the forest was playing when…” He stopped. What was he talking about? </p><p></p><p>The paramedic stood by the remains of Black Beauty. His fingers were on Jacob’s throat, feeling for a pulse. </p><p>“Afraid this guys a goner,” he said. Trooper Stevenson next to him shrugged. </p><p>“Call it.” </p><p>“Eight Ten. Wonder what the hurry was?” </p><p>“Who knows?” Stevenson took off his mirrored sunglasses, and wiped them on his shirt. “Huh. That’s funny, where’s that music coming from?”</p><p>The paramedic reached into the car, and pulled out the peacock.</p><p>“Must have turned on from the impact. Wonder why it didn’t break? Crazy tune, huh?” He put the peacock back next to Jacob, who lay on the pavement, unseeing eyes open to the summer sky.</p><p></p><p>Somewhere, miles and eons away, Neville smiled.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="maxfieldjadenfox, post: 2725394, member: 18003"] Okey dokey, here is my CDM story... Done counts for something, right? Topsy Turvey By Maxfieldjadenfox The first soft notes of the chanter were almost inaudible, but slowly, they grew louder, and louder and louder until it was hard to keep from putting your hands over your ears to muffle the sound. The song was discordant, ugly and willful, like a cross between fusion jazz and death metal. The player of this mad melody was a gargoyle named Neville. Neville had once been employed at Notre Dame Cathedral, but he was undependable and had a penchant for hanging upside down, spewing water up onto the roof instead of fountaining it down like a good waterspout gargoyle should. In fact, Neville was as contrary as any gargoyle ever chipped from stone. When he began to play the pipes, the effect was so stunningly terrible that the bladder was taken from him, leaving him with the chanter until he got better or learned to control himself. Unfortunately, neither of these things happened, his music was as awful and destructive 800 years later, which is when this story begins. Jacob was late. He was late and he was pissed at himself because Mr. Manders had said if he was late one more time, he was fired. Jacob couldn’t afford to be fired. He had just bought a new car, a Beemer, which he felt befit his position as an up and coming junior, junior executive at Manders, Finch and Sloan, and he wasn’t going to blow it because of a stupid frozen waffle. The waffle had gotten stuck in the toaster, and had set off the smoke detector and that had brought the landlord which had led to an angry confrontation, but that didn’t matter. Jacob was late, and he had to make up for lost time. As he tied his purple and green tie while trying to finish his coffee and grab his briefcase, he thought he heard music. Well, that was a charitable description, it was a series of bleated notes that made his head ache and set an odd tingle running at the back of his neck. The music seemed familiar somehow. For a moment, he remembered a dream he had been having, just before he woke up. It hovered at the edge of his mind, but then it was gone. Jacob shook his head. Must be those neighbors upstairs. ‘Jeez, how can people listen to that crap?’ he thought as he climbed behind the wheel of Black Beauty. Nobody knew he had named the car, especially after an old kid’s book character, a girl kid’s book character. He had an image to protect. He revved the engine, not taking the time to let his gem warm up slowly as he usually did. “Sorry, girl,” he said, ‘I promise this won’t happen again.” He gunned the engine and the back wheel popped the curb. He narrowly missed old Miss Franklin, walking her sausage-like pug, Winston. She shook her cane at him and he yelled “sorry” out the window. Blasting up the 105, radio cranked to drown out the memory of the weird tune, Jacob looked at his Rolex. “Ten til eight. I might still make it.” He pressed the accelerator harder and saw the speedometer shoot up to 110. “Now that’s more like…” Neville’s tune reached it’s crescendo. Jacob’s eyes returned to the road in front of him just in time to see the mini van. “Oh, shi…” Trooper Dan Stevenson got the call. A wreck on the 105. A bad one. Sirens wailed their way to the scene, Black Beauty inverted, crumpled and smoking , Jacob hanging from the seat belt. Nearby, the mini van, smashed, windshield shattered. The sound of a child’s wailing came from what was left of the back seat. The firemen and paramedics employed the jaws of life as the woman driver of the van, amazingly alert and uninjured, said over and over, “He just came out of nowhere.” Jacob heard the sirens. He also heard something else, that damned song he had been hearing all morning. He gradually became aware of an odd pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was suddenly flying over a deep forest. The song was louder here, and as he watched, something seemed to be happening to one of the trees. It’s leaves were turning grey, as if they were slowly being drained of their color. Above, he saw what looked like DNA molecules floating in the sky, twisting and winding around themselves and each other. He landed with a thud near the trunk and saw that it had turned to stone. He closed his eyes and found himself on a plinth, in the moonlight. That was odd enough, but he seemed to be standing on his hands. “I must be hallucinating,” he thought, “or maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is the afterlife?” He pondered this for a moment. Why would he be standing on his hands on a plinth in the afterlife? He had never been athletic, how was he doing this incredibly long handstand now? He couldn’t feel his body. He knew it was there, because he could see it, but it was as if he were carved out of stone, just like the tree. He stayed that way for a long while, as the sky went from indigo to grey blue and finally to the rosy hue of dawn. Then he heard the music again, more discordant, louder, more insistent. He strained to see where it was coming from, and to his surprise, his eyes made out something coming toward him, something grotesque, stomping along on stumpy legs. It had red eyes and pointed ears, or were they horns? A cowled hood and a rough brown robe, like those worn by monks in the olden days. At it’s lips was a chanter from a set of bagpipes, but somehow it was making a noise like a jet engine. Jacob wished he could plug his ears, but his hands were frozen fast to the plinth, and all he could do was suffer as the awful melody vibrated through his body. Soon all of the trees were drained of their color, and then the ground nearby. Everything had taken on the look of icy marble. The gargoyle smiled, and placed the chanter to his lips again. Jacob was back in his bed. The melody, if you could call it that, was fading. He looked over at his dresser at the digital alarm clock. 7 AM. Next to the clock was Julie’s ceramic peacock music box, and her pearls. What the? Hadn’t she taken them with her when she left him? Jacob shook his head hard. “Sweetie, get up. You’re going to be late.” Julie was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was wearing the blue terrycloth bathrobe he had given her for her birthday. She was beautiful. What was she doing here? “Seriously. Here. How about some music to start your day?” She picked up the peacock and twisted the key on the bottom. A melody began to play. “I know this song,” he said, “It’s the one that the gargoyle in the forest was playing when…” He stopped. What was he talking about? The paramedic stood by the remains of Black Beauty. His fingers were on Jacob’s throat, feeling for a pulse. “Afraid this guys a goner,” he said. Trooper Stevenson next to him shrugged. “Call it.” “Eight Ten. Wonder what the hurry was?” “Who knows?” Stevenson took off his mirrored sunglasses, and wiped them on his shirt. “Huh. That’s funny, where’s that music coming from?” The paramedic reached into the car, and pulled out the peacock. “Must have turned on from the impact. Wonder why it didn’t break? Crazy tune, huh?” He put the peacock back next to Jacob, who lay on the pavement, unseeing eyes open to the summer sky. Somewhere, miles and eons away, Neville smiled. [/QUOTE]
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