Moriah's+Fantasy+Scene

Moriah's Fantasy Scene

Parisian Night The girl hugged herself tightly as she weaved through the kaleidoscopic, cobblestone courtyard, while the gargoyles of Notre Dame froze humiliated on the roof. The clouds seemed to be playing hide and seek with the stars.

You could almost see the wind howling in the dark night and on the withered stone. The River Seine raced along under the small stone bridge with a chilly splash echoing in her ears. The heavy air hung thick with scent of food and perfume, although the tourist mob was long gone.

An old stone king on his horse was chiding a decree into the empty, whistling night. No one heard him except for the girl and the snickering gargoyles in the courtyard. The gargoyles’ laugh was like shifting memories embedded in rock.

Drunken politicians crammed inside the tavern across the courtyard and over the river; smoke shuffled out as if there was no more room for it. For now all was black, and all one could see was the girl breathing as she slipped inside the mystifying cathedral. The king and his horse limped away into the maze of stony alleys.

It was the time of night when late and early are indistinguishable. The clock chimed, but it was muffled by the silence. There was a whisper of a roar emerging from the tavern, as if each of the buildings were alive, but only the tavern was awake. The gargoyles danced and sprung from the rooftops, landing with such superb silence you could doubt that this was Paris.

Trash stung the air as the wind made it tumble past the sleeping buildings and into a cracked door of Notre Dame, and settled next to the foot of the girl. The child ran her finger along the back of the pew. The dust was clinging to her finger. She put her finger to her tongue as the saltiness shuddered through her body and her lips felt old and stale. What a worthless snack.

This Parisian night was depressing, as would all others be. Paris was dead. People lived, but the city died. Paris had stopped breathing.

The girl poked her head out of the cathedral. The girl’s dry brown hair grasped the door covering her bony hands, and her bright eyes hidden, as if covered by a mask. The girl ran to the corner of the building and the trash grabbed at her feet. The girl stumbled away from battered old paper stalking her; yet it followed. The girl panicked. //He was right. This is real.// She screamed.