Friday, September 29, 2006

Writing Exercise: The Blind Minstrel (Prose)

Friday morning March 22nd. I died a broken hearted man while talking to a constable sent over to investigate a crime, unimaginable in my youth and disability that I will and be able to commit.

To tell the story was all that I could do and to him I had to narrate the events as they unfold, teary eyed by the darkness that surrounds me and how nobody believes me;

Constable, I have nothing to hide, I swear by my good family’s name what really happened yesterday, and all will be told.

Whilst the sun began its journey across the cloudless sky,
I started my day carrying my trusty guitar,
and took a walk to my favorite spot in the gutter beneath the bridge downtown.

I sing merry songs to those souls who in my blinded state,
I can only hear. There were voices muttering gladness for the songs they’ve heard, others insult, and some who just don’t care;
then sounds of dropped pennies can be heard from my little can.

I pause every now and then,
said my thanks to my loyal patrons who found time to listen to my squabbles,
picked them up quickly and dropped them inside my pocket and walked on.

I don’t beg to get my day’s rations constable, I have my pride!
It was by lunchtime, that I heard my stomach grumble urging me to go and get my grub.

I crawled and walked,
I even stumbled a few yards just to touch and smell the creatures that abound me,
guided by their voices to an abandoned alley.

Then off from the gutter I stumbled on top of something;
letting my hand touch the warm being that I have stepped upon,
then a sudden realization whipped my senses, for here lies a woman I can tell!
all nude and lifeless in a place I can call a rats den.

I dropped my guitar and crawled to a tenement nearby;
to the souls who lived in that place I asked for help praying that life could still be preserved on that helpless woman.

I left without notice,
after making sure that the voices has helped her;
for in my hunger I think I myself cannot last as well.

But somehow I got the notion that the people that helped her were following me!
Their voices grew louder and louder; forcefully picked me up,
battered me, and pushed me up a vehicle.

It was later that I found out that those same people that I called upon
has accused me of robbery, murder, and rape;
I dragged a woman; a business woman to be exact from uptown that was passing by the alley they say;
and robbed her of her belongings at gun point,
and in my discontentment I raped her then shot her three times to the head!
thus the blood on the pavement...

Heard every word I said constable?

I told them the story as I’m telling this to you;
but they only laughed at me; beat me up again;
my execution they want swift.

In my beaten state, though I know I won’t live to tell;
but to you I pray, restore my dignity for I’m just a minstrel,
a blind one, but cheerful to be exact;
trapped in a tragedy of the unjust.

I’m sorry but I think I have to close my eyes;
in my bruises, I have to take a moment’s rest…

Jasmin Uy

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