Note: The following is yet another creative work by yours truly. I've been looking for some outsiders that would like to post something here. If you've got something you'd like to send me, just put it in the mailbag. The first person to send something will probaby get it posted, because I'm lazy like that.
This all started on a night.
But one should always begin before the beginning.
The town of Maedvolk thrived of its own accord. It was sparsely populated, yet it was host to a moderately healthy economy. It was, perhaps, stuck several decades behind the outside world, but the citizens of this village payed little notice to the outside world. The town overlooked a sizeable bay that eventually fed into a great ocean. Most of the townspeople had forgotten what ocean this was.
The town square consisted of a modest patch of lush, emerald-green grass bisected by two paths which crossed each other at a perpendicular. At said intersection, there stood a statue of an ample female. No one in the town could remember who the statue was cast after, but it was decided that the work done to create it would not be duplicated in this small town any time soon, and so the mystery woman would continue living at town's center. She would often catch the eye of the town's curious, young adolescents, but other than that her only purpose was to "finish off" the square.
The statue was flanked on all sides by eight benches. It was on one of these benches that a young artist would sit and paint or draw each day. He was tall and handsome, but his countenance portrayed only modesty. He mostly made his living by sketching portraits for tourists and passersby. It was a rare occasion when he painted anything that sold of its own merit.
Nigh down the eastbound path sat a small merchant's stand. On this particular day, the stand was vacant. It was owned by a fisherman who used it's prime location to sell his catch of the previous day. The fisherman was likely off in the bay on his tiny sailboat. With his nets out in the water, the fisherman would sit and play his fife until the nets were ready for his attention. He was tall and skinny and possessed a bronze tan that seemed to last through every season.
Structuring the square on all sides stood an array of shops, offices, administrative buildings, and an unassuming place of worship. The busiest shop around this hour belonged to a stout yet sturdy butcher. He received pork, beef, and chicken from the various farms on the outskirts of Maedvolk and with them prepared the choicest links, roasts, and fillets that could be had in town. It was a rare moment that he didn't have a customer.
Opposing the butcher shop in both liveliness and location was a lawyer's office. The master of this office was rarely about because he was rarely put to use. Instead, his scrivener was usually outsourced for any number of clerical tasks - most often the local businesses would hire him to prepare fliers of advertisement. The scrivener was a quiet gentleman who nonetheless owned a domineering presence. Each day after work, he would put on his coat and homburg and walk for twenty-five minutes back to his single-occupant home on Einman Lane in a suburban neighborhood of Maedvolk.
The scrivener's was the second in a row of four single-occupant homes. One belonged to a stout yet sturdy butcher, another to a tall and skinny fisherman with an ever-present tan, and the last to a handsome, young artist. Here they lived in solidary as solitaries and each of them valued peace and privacy among all else.
Now, this all started on a night.
The artist struggled to paint a simple landscape, the scrivener closeted his coat and homburg and played a lonely game of cards, the fisherman lamented a slow tune through his fife, and the butcher fell into a mild coma by the spirit of his favorite spirit.
It was in this moment that an inclination seeped through a window of each bachelor's home. This curiousity struck the respective gentleman on the brow. A yellow light roused their individual attentions, and each man moved toward the window to investigate. The light seemed to come from the sky, and so the inclination morphed into an invitation as each man found himself standing in the rear of his estate, barefoot, staring at the sky. A yellow star had ascended into the heavenlies and greeted the butcher, fisherman, artist, and scrivener. Each stared directly into the light produced by this yellow star, and the star itself seemed to peer precisely back into each soul standing on his back lawn. This intercourse lasted according to the curiousity of each man; the scrivener glancing only ten minutes and the artist on his lawn for just short of an hour.
The following day, the scrivener had his homborg tilted at a convivial angle, and the fisherman attracted quite an audience at his stand with his impressive catch and jovial fifing. The butcher prepared links and fillets in a manner that appealed to the eye and the palate. The artist topped them all. His latest work featured a beautiful young woman facing a bright yellow sunset on Maedvolk Bay. Somehow, it perfectly captured the mystique and embrace of the yellow star the previous night. A businessman on holiday purchased it for a modest sum.
The secretary at the legal office remarked on the decided optimisim in the scrivener's penmanship as he left for the day with a conspicuous bounce in his step. Each of the four returned home that evening not to a lonely house but to the excitment of something new.
For a little more than a month, the scrivener wrote, the fisherman fished, and the butcher butchered with a joy and contentment that diffused into their respective trades and delighted their clients. All but the artist greatly increased their business. The artist was painting more with his newfound inspiration, but his work wasn't going for any more than a portrait for a tourist. This was of little consequence to the artist. The yellow star appeared in the sky every night and the four went out to the lawn to stare for what seemed a longer time with each passing evening.
That is, until, the star was gone.
One evening, the come-hither light trickled faintly through the window. The yellow star shined curiously in the sky this evening. It was not comfortable for the gentlemen. They stared, unsure of these present affairs. The once comforting light now seemed to emit anxiety and chagrin. In an instant, the star transmorphed into a magnficent bright red, and the men, protecting their eyes, turned away from it. And so quickly as it had changed, it was gone. The four became vexed by its absence.
Vexation cloaked Maedvolk. Optimism had left the pen of the scrivener, the knives of the butcher seemed to rust often and dull quickly, and the fisherman blurted crimes against nature from his fife. No fish would come near him.
The artist seemed the least capable of handling vexation. Colors of darkness - charcoals, ebonies, and a thousand kinds o gray - and colors of passion - crimsons, carmines, and scarletts - seemed to eminate out of the once striking countenance and travel down through his hands, out to his brush, and onto the canvas. His works no longer resembled any specific person or place or discernable figure at all. Not a soul could pass the artist without sensing this ardent vexation.
And as the people of Maedvolk purchased vexed meat and read vexed documents and consumed vexed fish and beheld the vexed art, they too were vexed. Vexation poured through the streets of Maedvolk and joy and contentment seemed to escape from the city's limits. The once emerald-green square took on a deathly shade of brown, and even the unamed statue seemed less bountiful - less prominent.
Vexation had taken hold of Maedvolk, and the sky to which the butcher, fisherman, artist, and scrivener once looked nightly seemed unable to carry even the faintest twinkle.
Despite the obvious suffering the artist endured, his professional career was beginning to receive notice far beyond the borders of Maedvolk. While vexation had fouled the meat, fish, and script of his counterparts, it had empowered the artist to breakthroughs in contemporary art. The night after the star left, he painted a curiosity. Curiosities evolved as the nights became longer and the yellow star seemed to get further away. These curiosities soon became masterpieces, and wandering tourists were replaced by serious art collectors. Maedvolk, once a town mostly discovered by accident, became a town of culture relevance. Painters and singers and actors and poets came from all around to find inspiration in Maedvolk. They came to taste and see and read the same vexation that had inspired the artist.
The artist opened a gallery and sold his art for amounts that could purchase any object man could create. A copier was brought into the legalist's office and the scrivener retired to start a firm in print advertisement. The butcher and the fisherman found themselves thriving in a booming economy despite thier vexed products. They purchased machinery and choice real estate and hired legions of workers to expand their enterprises. Their vexed hands would no longer be in contact with their livelihood.
And so, the four found themselves in wealthy situations. They poured their money back into the town. Sod was lain in the town square and lights were hung and speakers were mounted to enhance the night. The once radiant square would radiate again. Opera houses and music halls and theaters were built to accomodate the thriving cultural center that had exploded in Maedvolk.
Tourists came in droves and packs and spent hundreds and thousands and millions on show tickets and opera seats and hotel rooms and dinner reservations and Maedvolk thrived as it never had before.
But for all the money, music, art, poetry, bright lights, and delicious foods - for all the power the four possessed - vexation would not leave Maedvook. There would be no peace for the fisherman, barber, artist, and scrivener.
It was a gentle night in the bustling city of Maedvolk. The scrivener had closeted his tuxedo upon returning from an opera. The artist was whirling paint at a canvas that would cover nearly two stories. The butcher had over indulged himself in brandy and relished in his inebriation. The fisherman had long replaced his fife with a stereo system.
It was in this moment that an inclination seeped through a window of each bachelor's home. This curiousity struck the respective gentleman on the brow. A yellow light roused their individual attentions, and each man moved toward the window to investigate. The light seemed to come from the sky, and so the inclination morphed into an invitation as each man found himself standing in the rear of his estate, barefoot, staring at the sky.
Only this time, there were tears.
The yellow star had returned, and it's radiance shone with a sort of affection that the four had nearly forgotten. The four felt their vexation melt into oblivion. They stood there on their lawns until they were no longer vexed and their felicity returned.
Just as vexation had entered Maedvolk, so did it leave. The following day, the butcher returned to work in his old butcher shop, the artist sat down on his bench, the fisherman rebuilt his stand and retrieved his fife, and the scrivener closed down his business and returned to the law firm. Their new found bliss infected the town in the same manner that vexation had. The vexation that had inspired the town's cultural renaissance was clickly devoured and swallowed by contentment.
And inspiration left with it.
Theaters and opera houses were converted to shops and warehouses. Money for city projects dried up, and the lighting and speaker systems in the town square were removed. Actors and singers and painters could no longer find their inspiration, and so they left Maedvolk and tourists followed them on the out-bound road. The bright city quickly re-morphed into the village from which it came. Even the copier in the legalist's office deteriorated from from lack of upkeep. It was unnecessary, however, because the need for attorneys in Maedvolk was quickly vanishing.
What the outside world viewed as greatness had left Maedvolk, but the old sensations of joy and peace had returned to its original inhabitants.
There will be no complaints from the butcher, fisherman, scrivener, and artist. Their bright and shining star has returned - the bounce in their steps restored.
And so it ended much like it began:
On a night.
Hope you liked it!
Tschüs!