Pinhead ficlet - New years reflections
Thursday, 19 April 2007 05:56![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
immaThe Pyramid Gallery had a far more prestigeous name than exterior. The windows were small and had room for only minor displays. And more often than not, in this neighbourhood, the windowpanes were decorated with obscene spray painted words and images. But what could be seen from the outside, was not very inviting for the mere passers-by.
Not often had anyone in this neighbourhood seen the actual owners of the Gallery, and it seemed closed more often than not. Of course, the Pyramid Gallery was not a truly commercial business. Its trade was less commonplace, for the acquired taste... a taste into the macabre, the twisted and the infamous.
Even more seldom, the connosieurs of this art, this taste, were seen visiting the gallery. Some times huddled figures, curled in upon themselves as if fearful of theft or being seen. Other times arriving in large cars proudly flashing the wealth of the owner, who only touched the sidewalks of this damned part of New York briefly, to stride into the Gallery. But they all had one thing in common. They sought what could not be found elsewhere.
Today, on the first day of the new year, the shop was nearly dark, but yet open to customers. The artwork on display was even darker yet, apart from one item. Situated at the very centre of the display room, on a simple stone piedestal, sat a box. Handcrafted from the finest materials ever to touch the hands of an artist, it gleamed invitingly, instantly and inevitably catching the eyes of anybody entering the shop.
Temptation for the bored, promises for the seeking, pleasures for the lusting... it would whisper to you, beckon you to touch, to solve the puzzle and find release. Heaven for some, Hell for others... It was a new year, and time for renewal?
Reconfiguration?
The world was a playground and the children were once again itching to be let out.
"What is your pleasure?"
Not often had anyone in this neighbourhood seen the actual owners of the Gallery, and it seemed closed more often than not. Of course, the Pyramid Gallery was not a truly commercial business. Its trade was less commonplace, for the acquired taste... a taste into the macabre, the twisted and the infamous.
Even more seldom, the connosieurs of this art, this taste, were seen visiting the gallery. Some times huddled figures, curled in upon themselves as if fearful of theft or being seen. Other times arriving in large cars proudly flashing the wealth of the owner, who only touched the sidewalks of this damned part of New York briefly, to stride into the Gallery. But they all had one thing in common. They sought what could not be found elsewhere.
Today, on the first day of the new year, the shop was nearly dark, but yet open to customers. The artwork on display was even darker yet, apart from one item. Situated at the very centre of the display room, on a simple stone piedestal, sat a box. Handcrafted from the finest materials ever to touch the hands of an artist, it gleamed invitingly, instantly and inevitably catching the eyes of anybody entering the shop.
Temptation for the bored, promises for the seeking, pleasures for the lusting... it would whisper to you, beckon you to touch, to solve the puzzle and find release. Heaven for some, Hell for others... It was a new year, and time for renewal?
Reconfiguration?
The world was a playground and the children were once again itching to be let out.
"What is your pleasure?"
