Frad's Untitled Allegory

[Fradrok]

I wrote this recently and kinda like it. It's an allegory and I haven't come up with a title for it yet. Read it as one who is down on himself:

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Excerpt from an Untitled Allegory

by d.a. sallee



It is with weeping gladness that I bid you the story of the death of our goodly lord, Duke Dravidian Shawke. Ne'er has a day passed that he has not influenced us for the positive sorts. And even in his death we are polished clean with the high-crowned monarch that is joy.

For it is joy that fill us, oh yes. Happiness is but a single flutter of the hummingbird's wings, but joy blows the mountain of our soul to the oceans. Our chests exploded with gleeful feelings indescribable by language when we saw him enter our towns. Our eyes were blinded by the brilliance of his after-image long past as his continued journey sought others in need of comfort.

A man the heavens brushed on to the canvas of life from the purest of created mixtures.

But you should weep not at the mortification of your dearest friend, for he lives thriving in memories to pass from grandfather to grandchild through and unto centuries eternal.

Alas, poor child, and hearken an old fool's wish of voicing the memories aloud. Embark with me on the humble proclaiming of the voyaged life of Duke Dravidian whom you know as well as I. It is joy that compels me utterance.

You and I know each other well and so you know that I cannot misspeak; and dear friend, your heart will soar when I tell the strong truth. We met at your birthing time and have conversed in our mutual loud silence from that very moment you first breathed in our shared air and exhaled that breath into the life of mortals. You shunned me when you stole your first booty and rejoiced me when I kindled your first love. Oh yes, my friend, we know one another as any could know himself.

I need not tarry on the story of us, but rather to spark in you the remembrance of our dearest lord Dravidian. You have sat far too long in this contemplating misery when passion and life abound. You must awaken from within the beats of your heart's purpose. I will help, however meager it will seem. For we deserve life everlasting not the temporal suffering of Caldestar's poisoned spears. Anguish does not befit us however right and true it presents itself. So, I will antidote the swelling tides of your drowning introspection. We will fight yet again, you and I, to find manifested joy.


You'll recall when the son of Duke Shawke was born and first named Dravidian for you were in his service mere hours after the birth-blood was wiped clean. You were young then; ever so much younger than you want to remember being. Years from your first claims as a man. And you have never forgotten that night in all yours years since. For upon that night, the birth-night of our lord Dravidian, you met peace.

Strivings for rule had overtaken our lands. Plotted battles between the proud and the envious for nobility slaughtering your countrymen. An age of anarchy brought to kneel its blade of destruction at the feet of the singular and rightful heir of the sovereign Duke of our beloved Shawkeland. Dravidian personified freedom. The wiggling littlest toes of his feet marched our victory from our idolatrous whims; and, as his tiny fingers clung to his mothers breast, they grappled out our want of fear.

This is not your father's story, nor his father's; nor is it your son's: but yours; and mine. You and I will do the recalling ourselves because we were there. It was our duty to be his servant, but it was our cored nature that loved Dravidian so as to want to be bound in his slavery. And though your memory fails you not, you meander your days and nights in frippery. Arise from your slothful thoughts and mindless dreams of yesterday, for today we stand as kings in the sight of our lord Dravidian who sits mighty at the right-hand of his father's throne. His death is not our end, but rather it is his beginning.


Remember the tears of strength that rose in you when lord Dravidian faced the harvest scythes of the Caldestian treachery. When Caldestar thought to cultivate wrought from within, what did our lord Dravidian do with his tears, my friend? He wept his mercy and justice on their very souls and conquered Caldestar with his bestial tenderness. No mortal should have felt strong in that moment, but you did.

We buried kin that day. Wives and brothers. A tragedy like no author could compose, and yet there was joy. For joy is not built from laughter, but molded from hope; and hope is the lightening preceding the thunderous claim of power. Power given to you freely by our master, lord Dravidian.

Take heart, dear friend, for the Caldestian coup was rightly needed. Trimming weary branches gives blossoming strength to the tree that is in want of purity. True gold we would not be if we were left aside to shine only as dully as the other nuggets first prospected. The dross cannot be removed without first placing the gold above a roaring fire. And it is by that molten process that we are shaped into men.

...

[Peneloperose]

Thanks again for posting Frad. How did you come up with the idea to write about the death of a Duke from that perspective?

[Fradrok]

Well, we each have someone who inspires us, with little to no explanation as to why they inspire us as much as they do. It's like being compelled. For some it could be a parent, others maybe Jesus or some religious figure, etc.

For me, when I get down and need a lift, those that inspire me come to mind and lift me up. Kind of a, "Hey, dufus ... you're forgetting something."

However, to answer your question ... Three things happened all at once: I had just finished watching Shakespeare in Love, something tickled my brain about John Bunyan's allegory, Pilgrims Progress, and lastly Robin Williams' character in the very beginning of Aladdin where he's a peddler selling his wares.

So with a narrator telling a story (Aladdin), an allegory (Pilgrims Progress), and the Nobility (movie) it just flowed into a first-person, middle-age type story about a man who needs to remember his purpose. (whatever that purpose is)

[Yaroc]

That was quite interesting, Frad!

'Roc

[Fradrok]

Gasp! "interesting" being the synonym to "garbage" for those brought up to be polite ...

[Yaroc]

No, I liked it a lot, (-:

'Roc