Skrev den här - på svenska - för drygt ett år sedan, men blev aldrig rikrigt nöjd. Ska man nu försöka skriva Lovecraft-inspirerat, så ska det nog vara på engelska, trots allt.  Må så vara att jag sviker mitt modersmål, men engelskan har vissa ord som passar så mycket bättre i den här sortens text.

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It´s been twenty years now.

Twenty long years,  but when the door slams behind me and the sound fades away, a chiaroscuro of memories arise unbidden, and from the darkest corners of my mind I hear once more my uncles voice. I hear him as clear as if he sat beside me now, like he used to, even though the secretive old crook has been gone for more than twenty years.

I hear him, the hoarse voice shaped by expensive whiskey and cheap cigars,
by the humid heat of the jungle and the all-consuming arid dryness of egyptian tombs...
... a voice that would be at home in a decrepit old victorian mansion, not here;
not in the mundane dining-room of a swedish working class home.

I hear his voice.
He still talks to me, fills my head with knowledge I never even dreamed of,
images I could not imagine even in the nightmares of my childhood;

Forgotten names in mouldering manuscripts, cities reclaimed by the darkest rain-forests, civilizations lost in the deepest voids of the oceans, forbidden worship of nameless deities...
...God in heaven, merciful saints, make him stop!


***


Twenty years.

Twenty long years since I saw who he truly was,
what was hidden behind gray hair, blood-shot eyes and tobacco colored teeth.
Twenty years since I thrust that obsidian dagger into the darkness where his heart should have been.

Twenty years... and still he talks to me!

 

Khathinka

12 september 2010 20:27

Du borde skicka dina alster till nåt förlag. =) jag hade tillomed köpt dina saker, inte bara stulit dom på internet ^^

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