A vanishing act

And he woke up that day and realized that the music had faded to a dull, monotonous mumble that festered and collected in the corner.
And he woke up that day and realized that words disappeared from the page, forgotten and empty as a blank wall.
And he woke up that day and realized that color had lost its hue as it rotted away in drab, grey uniformity.
And he woke up that day and realized that it had happened the day before. And the day before. And so on…

But whereas withering resignation and insulated safety had filled that space before…where distorted vision and clouded thoughts cast a pallor over endless days turned black in times past….this time there would be armies mobilized in defiance, fists pounded on tables to splinter boards and shatter glasses.

Too much electricity had fired through the marrow of those bones to see it drain away in darkness’ decay. The spirits of doom hadn’t expected a fight; they’d expected a willing victim collapsing into the suffocation of their miasmic arms. Not this time. He played a quiet, fresh note and it was good. Then there was the swift wind that ignited something. So fleeting a palpitation, but long enough to spark the crucial memory.

Begging for ingenuity and creation and vibrancy and the aroma of sweat and passion he set out to find the wizards in the underbelly of the block city. Hiding away from the dazed masses in their daily grind, these misfits chanted ancient spells, stirred exotic potions and danced to chants alive with thumping drums and shrieking ravens and enchanted snake swoops.

Knowing that empty is dead, he set off to look….