The Madman of Venezia

[Guest]

The deep bellowing notes of the pipe organ sang as Vincente's fingers danced across the keys. Eyes were closed in an entranced state of mind; The man was far lost in the beauty of the organ piece known as Tocata und Fuge in D minor by Amestris's own Johann Sebastian Bach. Each note brought to life an explosive symphony of swirling colours and imagery behind his dark eyelids. His eyes were closed but his visions were still there. This was the blessing of Vincente D'Arcangelo, the man of God's vision. He could see sound as if it were physically in front of him, and there were few thing as beautiful as the works of musical geniuses in Vincente's eyes. Of course, there was much beauty in other things as well....

Vincente cast a watchful eye upon his present company: A less than sound man strapped to a steel table several metres behind him. This man, an Esparian immigrant to La Cerise, was also an enemy of the Family. What the man was guilty of wasn't very clear to the silver haired organist, but it hardly mattered. Be it theft, murder, owing money or ignoring the rules of the underworld- the only thing that truly mattered was the fact that he had been given to the Madman of Venezia to provide him company on this lonely summer's evening.

The Esparian man, however, hardly seem pleased to be there. With frightened panic and horror that contorted his dirty and weary features so, he screamed and shouted and begged for mercy as he stared wide eyed at the ceiling. Of course, such behavior was only natural and well expected of someone with a massive steel crescent blade swing to and fro above his restrained form. The lethal blade swung back and forth in perfect metronome, like a pendulum of impending ruin as it inched closer and closer to the naked torso of the man with each swing. A medieval torture device that Vincente had purchased for his basement of unspeakable fate, the scythe-like pendulum drawss closer to the man as its notched suspension inches down from the ceiling.

The man's pleas fall not upon deaf ears, however. Each blood curdling shriek of terror only feeds the ecstasy of Vincente's colourful visions as it seeps into the music played upon the organ piano. Dexterous fingers dance playfully across the keys of the organ to create the powerful and frightening sounds of the haunting musical piece-- picking up speed as the scythe draws near to the heaving chest of the terrified captive, now just centimeters from touching flesh.

And finally the real screams began. The shrieks of pain as steel cleaved slowly through flesh, milimeter by milimeter, slowly deepening the bleeding gash across his bare chest. The composition Vincente played grew more intense as visions of sharp colours swirled and contrasted and blurred his vision with astounding beauty. He could see it now! He could see the shining gates of heaven; too magnificent to comprehend. They blurred his sight with their radiance as Vincente's mind drew closer and closer to another world none but he could see. This was the realm of God, as he knew it. So bright and blinding was its magnificence, smeared with colourful crescendos of beauty and art that painted the skies like a summer's sunset, that its divine splendor brought tears to his eyes. And so the mad organist continued to play as the scythe severed the strings of the man's life from his corpse-- and so Vincente continued to play with tears streaming down his face as red magenta and red-violet eyes stared off into distances unseen-- and so he played, with a jubilant and entranced smile upon his lips, and joyous, chilling laughter echoing throughout the halls of the chateau's cellar.

But eventually the screaming had died out, and the song had long ended with its final notes. And thus the gates to heaven had vanished and Vincente was left in hollow and somber darkness and silence, in the company of his deceased guest-- the pendulum's momentum slowly drawing to a halt as the device's function ended.

Alas, gaze upon perfection in all its wonder, for it is fleeting. That is the curse of art, and the curse of heaven's vision. For though he could glimpses upon its beauty, it would never last. And so he awaited the next aria of death and hymn of chaos to bridge his senses to the golden gates once again....

[Shula Brighton]

{BUMP}