The Former Online Journal of Eric T. Marin
This is my former online journal. To read current entries, please visit my LiveJournal blog here.
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Photo copyright 2004 Eric Marin
Grasping for Immortality
I don't have any real news to share today. I'd like to see someone write the next part of the story posted in my last journal entry.
In the meantime, I thought I'd post a story of mine that was published last month.
Grasping for Immortality
Copyright Eric Marin 2003-2004
(published in the January 2004 issue of Expressions)
As I amble along a slate-paved walkway, I gaze at the flanking structures in the shadowed half-light of dusk with a bemused smile. I have happened upon a cemetery for the wealthy of Austin, Texas, an ironic place for a penniless student to procrastinate. The monuments to the over-rich dead appear to vie for my attention, as the wind slides and slips among them.
My steps slow, and my amusement shades into alarm, as I hear voices issue from all around.
"Look at me," commands a granite obelisk, jutting toward the darkening sky above.
"Pay it no heed; I am far more impressive," croons a robed angel cradling a harp.
"Do I not do justice to my charge?" whispers an elaborate garden of flowers, shrubbery, and ornamental trees.
I blink and come to a confused halt. Do I hallucinate or dream awake?
An inscribed boulder growls dog-like at my feet, while a marble crucifix waxes eloquent to my right. The demanding voices of the monuments rise to a reverberating roar that binds me in place. I yelp in surprise, but the rising wind carries away my outcry with a gleeful chuckle.
"You must judge who among us leaves the strongest impression," rumbles a pillar to my left, its length festooned with carved vines. "Then you may go."
Irritation at these inanimate muggers replaces my fear, and I examine each of the monuments in turn with revenge for a spoiled walk foremost on my mind. Each strives to outdo the others in grandness and opulence; all but one – a flat gravestone sitting Zen-silent beneath the shade of an evergreen shrub. The inscription reads: In Memory of our Beloved Karen.
"That one," I say with a smile, as I point to the little marker.
The monuments grind and grate in frustrated outrage, as the bonds of the spell holding me in place unravel.
I share a laugh with the capricious wind and leave the raging monuments behind, as I continue my walk.
In the meantime, I thought I'd post a story of mine that was published last month.
Grasping for Immortality
Copyright Eric Marin 2003-2004
(published in the January 2004 issue of Expressions)
As I amble along a slate-paved walkway, I gaze at the flanking structures in the shadowed half-light of dusk with a bemused smile. I have happened upon a cemetery for the wealthy of Austin, Texas, an ironic place for a penniless student to procrastinate. The monuments to the over-rich dead appear to vie for my attention, as the wind slides and slips among them.
My steps slow, and my amusement shades into alarm, as I hear voices issue from all around.
"Look at me," commands a granite obelisk, jutting toward the darkening sky above.
"Pay it no heed; I am far more impressive," croons a robed angel cradling a harp.
"Do I not do justice to my charge?" whispers an elaborate garden of flowers, shrubbery, and ornamental trees.
I blink and come to a confused halt. Do I hallucinate or dream awake?
An inscribed boulder growls dog-like at my feet, while a marble crucifix waxes eloquent to my right. The demanding voices of the monuments rise to a reverberating roar that binds me in place. I yelp in surprise, but the rising wind carries away my outcry with a gleeful chuckle.
"You must judge who among us leaves the strongest impression," rumbles a pillar to my left, its length festooned with carved vines. "Then you may go."
Irritation at these inanimate muggers replaces my fear, and I examine each of the monuments in turn with revenge for a spoiled walk foremost on my mind. Each strives to outdo the others in grandness and opulence; all but one – a flat gravestone sitting Zen-silent beneath the shade of an evergreen shrub. The inscription reads: In Memory of our Beloved Karen.
"That one," I say with a smile, as I point to the little marker.
The monuments grind and grate in frustrated outrage, as the bonds of the spell holding me in place unravel.
I share a laugh with the capricious wind and leave the raging monuments behind, as I continue my walk.
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