a shadow tilts its head at me // collaboration

taking a piece of inspiration and seeing what it prompts different people to create is something that will never cease to fascinate me.

and one of the most versatile and powerful pieces of inspiration is music.

music inspires art – whether it be a poem, a painting, a drawing or even more music. and art is something that anyone can make.

“are you searching, for purpose? write something; yeah it might be wordless. paint something; yeah it might be worthless. pointless curses, nonsense verses. you’ll see purpose start to surface” ~kitchen sink

i have always had a curiosity to see how separate individuals – unique, colorful, broken, human, human beings – react to a common stimulus.

thus this project was born – a merging of some of the biggest inspirations in my life – music, art, writing, and twenty one pilots. i chose a lyric that seemed to hold galaxies and twilights and violin concertos behind it – an infinite possibility of all things misty and half-asleep.

sarah (paraphernalia) and clara (midnight mind) – incredible writer-blogger-artist-humans – decided to be a part of this and i am elated and terrified at the same time to add their tremendous talents to this project. expect to be blown away by the beautiful creations that they wrote.

since this collaboration is in three parts, you can find one part on each blog. i will be hosting sarah’s piece, sarah will have clara’s, and clara will have mine. i will link the other two parts at the bottom of the post! now for sarah’s creation:

a shadow tilts its head at me, spirits in the dark are waiting / i will let the wind go quietly, i will let let the wind go quietly.

hometown, twenty one pilots

he jolted upright from his dream, grasping the bed-sheets so hard that his knuckles turned white. sweat trickled down his forehead and onto his cheeks.

the last few hours had been a blur. one minute ago, he’d thought he had everything he’d ever wanted. but, the next moment, he found himself falling into a thick sea of a tar-like appearance. the wind roared down his ears forcefully as he was plunged into the ocean of all his fears. it smothered him, growling over his body and drowning him. his legs felt broken under the weight of the darkness and he couldn’t escape it. he was frozen in place. paralyzed. dying. that was when he woke up.

even though his nightmare had deceased, the fear still embraced him. he couldn’t escape it. fear and insecurity always held their grasp around his throat, choking him to death.

his gazed darted around the dark room. his ragged breath was laced with panic. the four walls surrounding him seemed to be closing in. the insecurity was building up inside of him, ready to be set off like a firework. he sensed the presence of something unholy in the room, waiting to pounce on his weak figure.

even though it was near pitch black and the fear was still rushing through his veins, he cautiously made his way to the corner of the room. he eyed his shadow as it grew taller along the wall and crept after him. he’d never felt so endangered in his life. he unsuccessfully tried to calm his breathing whilst he collapsed into a small wooden chair in the corner of his haunted den.

the petrified man found himself where he wanted to be right then; in front of his keyboard piano. he’d left his bedside to play it. sometimes the demons of the night were too violent to let him sleep. that’s how it was tonight; that’s how it was most nights. he needed someway to release his fear during the night and that’s why he played the piano, to show the spirits in his room he was ignoring them.

so, his shaking, black fingers softly pushed down on the ivory keys before him. it was a familiar, warm sound which left the keyboard’s speakers and wrapped him in a comforting embrace. it stuck out from the surrounding darkness and raging wind pushing against the window’s glass-panes. rain was wiped in every direction by the frightening wind.

atop the keyboard rested about a dozen pages of notebook paper. they were adorned in his handwriting. to him, these sheets of writing were his best friends. they stayed with him wherever he was. he reached out his tattooed arm and pulled out one very familiar sheet of his scribbles and musings. he’d only worked on the piece last night, when he felt so broken he was ready to explode into a million pieces. in the night-time, he could just about read the small writing that stood atop the lines of the notebook paper: “a shadow tilts its head at me, spirits in the dark are waiting. i will let the wind go quietly.”

he sighed and faintly nodded. his fingers fell back into place on the keys below him. this time, he read out his writing aloud. at first his voice shook, wobbling a little. he was a tired, poor soul, hunched over his instrument in the dark. every night was turning out exactly the same way for him now. but he’d learnt to take this fear, this pain, this emotion that he felt and find a way to fight it… through any means possible.

his words continued to escape his lips, his hands worked like magic skipping down the keyboard. it was a soft song that he played; filled with emotion. but his gentle voice grew stronger and stronger, as if he was singing in defiance of the fears and thoughts which consumed his room. yes, he could feel the tension in the room. he could feel uncertainty lining the room like cobwebs. he could feel doubt hanging over him like a ghost, his cold fingertips trying to strangle him to death. and yes, of course, he could feel death himself, depleting his vision, peering deep into the windows of his soul. but the man had already lost his mind to other things, completely engrossed in the music.

eventually, he lifted his eyes up to the window to finally notice dawn shyly peering over the treetops in the distance. he was on the verge of a new day. he’d made it through another long night again. fear failed to get the best of him… and the man was set on the idea that it never would. the howling wind slowed to a quiet breeze as he fixed his attention onto the yellow swirls of warm light in the ice cold sky. the wispy brightness was streaming through every crack it could find in the clouds above.

so there he was, absorbing the light of a brand new day.

“i will let the wind go quietly,” he sang in a low, breathy whisper. the chair creaked as he leant back.

the shadows of his room would not conquer him yet.

~ ~ ~

read my piece at midnight mind: https://midnightmindblog.home.blog/2020/03/13/spirits-in-the-dark-are-waiting-collaboration/

read clara’s piece at paraphernalia: https://paraphernalia.home.blog/2020/03/13/i-will-let-the-wind-go-quietly-collabration/