Tales of a Trouper

[dorf butts drive me nuts]

Plumes of smoke rose in the air and hung above a city ravaged by violence as ash and anguished cries were carried by the wind. The walls meant to protect said city stood between sections of rubble and vulnerability. The market that was once flooded with colorful canvas tops now swirled with ash and smoke as stalls burned and every open space was filled with fallen combatants. The beautiful fountain in the plaza, once a thing of pride and beauty, now crimson and decorated with the dead. Though the invaders were defeated the victory is bittersweet as citizens and soldiers alike sift through the remains of what they called home. Above the city, upon the remnants of a wall, a fire haired trouper sits with her knees together and bare, soot covered feet draped over the wall with a lute cradled in her lap. Long, elegant fingers dirtied from her ascent find the strings and she begin to play a slow, sad lullaby-like melody as she softly begins to sing in the higher end of her mezzo-soprano. As the words leave her naturally red lips, carried by the wind along with the ash, tears form in her emerald eyes that gaze down below.

“Come little children
I'll take thee away
Into a land of enchantment
Come little children
The time's come to play
Here in my garden of shadows”

For a moment she vocalizes, fingers keeping the melody upon her lute before singing again.

“Follow sweet children
I'll show thee the way
Through all the pain
And the sorrows
Weep not poor children
For life is this way
Murdering beauty and passions”

As she vocalizes again, tears roll down her dirtied cheeks but her playing hands do not wipe them away.

“Hush now dear children
It must be this way
Too weary of life
And deceptions
Rest now my children
For soon we'll away
Into the calm and the quiet”

She can feel eyes in her direction as she shuts her own as she vocalizes, her song carried by the wind.

“Come little children
I'll take thee away
Into a land of enchantment
Come little children
The time's come to play
Here in my garden of shadows”

As she finishes her melody she cries with a hand over her mouth muffling her sobs. Below soldiers hang their heads as they take in her tune, their arms filled with small crumbled bodies. There is no rain but moisture is in the air as battle worn men load carts with the help of citizens covered in both ash and blood, their faces wet from the trouper’s wind-carried melody. The woman upon the wall would rise, like a bloom of sorrow, above the smoking rubble of a once proud city before descending down the gap in the wall, her bare feet taking the nearest road away from the pain and sorrow.

(Song Credit to Erutan- Come Little Children)

[dorf butts drive me nuts]

Below a sky filled with color from the evening sun sits a caravan of brightly colored wagons. They sit parked in a circle around several small fires adorned with bubbling pots. Despite the size of the camp it was eerily quiet as the occupants sat gathered on one side of their encampment, their gaze locked on a particular wagon in their caravan. This wagon painted bright green, purple, and red surrounded itself in silence. Inside a blonde haired man knelt over a red haired, pale woman who’s sunken eyes told of her severe ailment as they locked hands. Softly the man sang to the ill woman, his voice a rumbling baritone full of sorrow as he pressed his lips against her cool forehead.
“Am I awake, or is just raining?
The shadows wait,
I cant keep the pain in.
It feels like I cant breathe...
with the water over me.

His voice would shake as he sings, struggling to keep the song between himself and the woman.

"The strings came apart,
they've stopped their singing.
Along with my heart,
as well as my being.
I feel just like a slave
to the pounding of these waves."

The camp would sit huddled together, hands held together as they waited with concern and sadness clear upon their faces. A young girl, a mere eight, broke away from the grasp of an older woman as her crimson locks flowed wildly behind her towards the wagon.

“You were mii-iine.
You were mii-iine.
You were miii-iiine.”
Barely a whisper, “You were miiii-iiine.”

Tears welled in the man’s emerald eyes as he sang, shutting them as tightly as he held the weakening woman in his arms. She would shift in his grasp and he would meet her gaze, full of love and devotion, her hand would squeeze his as the other touched his cheek “You always left me breathless, Bordel.” She said softly “Be strong... For her.” she whispered as a tear fell from her blue eyes and her last breath left her lips. Tenderly the man kissed his love’s lips one final time as he pressed his head into her chest and cried.

Outside the wagon the child pressed against one of the wagon’s wheels as tears streamed down her fair cheeks. Emerald eyes full of pain after watching her parent’s final moments together. Tightly she pulled herself into a ball against the safety of her family’s wagon and her sobs would alert her father of her presence as he stepped from the wagon. Tears stained his cheeks as he knelt down, gently taking her hand into his own and convincing her to stand on her own. Together, hands tightly holding the other, they approached the troupe whom dropped their heads as they mourned the loss of the red haired woman.

The days that followed were quiet and the only noise were the quiet mutterings and tuning of rehearsals as the caravan rumbled to their next destination. The lead wagon the trouper known as Bordel sat with his daughter at his side in silence. At night when all had gone to bed he would sneak out to find privacy with his lute as he played and sang softly to himself, a song meant for himself and the night, but always in the shadows his fiery haired daughter watched and listened. She absorbed every note and line with tears in her eyes.

"Alone with my thoughts and faces to remember.
The ashes and sparks, the glow of the ember.
The shadows of the past
have turned my love to glass."

“You were mii-iine.
You were mii-iine.
You were miii-iiine.”
Barely a whisper, “You were miiii-iiine.”

“I've heard the scars will fade inside this palisade of my mind
I beat my chest in rage stuck in this lonely cage
I want to fly... fly... fly... flyyyyy.”

“You were mii-iine.
You were mii-iine.
You were miii-iiine.”
His voice would fade to a melodic quiver as tears raced down his cheeks, “You were miiii-iiine.”

And from the places she would hide, Alora the daughter of Bordel and the deceased Clarissa, would cry silently as she fled back to their wagon where her father would return from drying his own tears before turning in himself.

(Lyric credit to Natural 1- You were mine)