Note: This piece was a Drama class assignment from my senior year in highschool. Originally we had people pantomiming the whole thing out, but I want to know what people think about this peace otherwise.


Once upon a past summer, eyes intrude upon a single mansion in the dusk of day. The old pillars juxtapose to the sides of the large ivory door. The foundation was set a little above the ground level and no doubted was powerful. Though within it’s dusty confines lays lush memories and powerful sanctities once held so close to a heart.

A heart that is old, the erudite Count Delacore has a true display among the center of his dim and dreariest study. Yes, in the form of a large portrait of autumn splendor standing absolute in the midst of all his quaint and curious tomes of lore so prized. But no prize could outweigh that which stood definably absolute in his mind, the far lengths of his conscious thought gilded with all manner of things old and new.

The portrait in question holds the image of a young Delacore, richly dressed and finely toned. At his side stood a beautiful maiden with the likeness of an angel above to the eyes. She was the one he surely had wed.

But after the dreary hours of dusk found rest within the shrouds of night, whence Delacore comes to rest at his fine sheets, blossom a magic truly worth beholding. Every night the autumn scene is retold in the past golden aged hues of sunken imagery.

The painting stirred as the nightly philter of nocturne essence strayed from the shadow. That which they escaped the light of embers cooling in the fireplace of the dark study, where the old-young hands tensed at the beginning of the portrait’s revival.

The two young ones, Count Delacore and his Lady Eriide, held hands as they passed through the autumn fields. A slight tension could be sensed between them, though more then their passionate bond it was a mysterious source of strain between them. Silent truth known only to them.

They set down amongst the red and yellow hued flora, leaves falling in their autumn orange grace all around them. Lady Eriide’s features accentuated the tension, though were as well likewise by the dieing colors that were so ironically beautiful.

Young Delacore brought a hand to that of his love, and one to his breast showing his care. His face was affected much so by the unknown source of energies, as if the waves crashed against his very soul- affecting not only his heart but his unending mind.

Just as soon as they would be there, clouds so white dimmed over with years, as soon as the winds would kiss the cheek of the frail Eriide.. She would be gone from the Counts touch. At his knee’s he’d watch the sky as though he watched her depart to the heavens above, his blessed angel.. Gone.

But all the loss in the passing occurring would be lost in the reoccurrence of reality. The morning hours approached. When the Rooster crowed the old Count would awake to find a memory at a stand still, as if forever trapped in the folds of time and space. Never would he see the magical happenings of memories that stayed with him otherwise.

It wasn’t like he didn’t remember that autumn day, it was indeed a day he could never forget…