The Sleeping Pixie

Terry the Pixie jumps aboard the Cinematic Orchestra by Paul Griffiths

A cloudy mist of cool air engulfs the gothic St George chapel of Cardiff, the windows tainted with tolerant icy shadows. A glowing hedge leans on the pastoral sombre building, shaking and rippling to the breeze. A small pair of pixie hands grasps the air from beyond the prickly hedge. Terry the Pixie twirls and morphs his body into a vibrant caterpillar as he crawls from beneath the prickly blue hedge. His long black trousers drag across the cold floor; his enormous brown shoes are buried beneath black silk apart from two pointed ends. His cream shirt has designer folds and creases with flamboyant images of dancing foxes. His large red nose breathes and gulps the smoke from his large wooden pipe.

He starts dragging his left leg across the golden grass, momentarily pauses and casually bends down lifting his purple pointed hat. With his enormous pointed hat firmly on his small head he skips, jumps and hops towards the deserted oil laced blue desert. Eruptions of volcanoes roar and spill through the oceans sky as Terry wonders towards the horizon. Striking red contours race and rip through the cool skies shaking the hands of the volcano.

The sky turns sour as vultures sweep down towards Terry. His shadow runs off leaving him to dance to the beaten sounds of the vultures’ hunger. His shadow finds Elvis in a darkened corner holding a broken LP "Thom Yorke goes Icelandic" with a prism filled with a thousand colours on the black velvet cover. Elvis stand there with a patched up bikers jacket and a large organic reefer cone - -- -puff --- puff ----- puff ------ blow!

Terry steps onto the horizon and into a quaint village railway station. A brown frosty spider crawls from under a crack on the platform. A torn grey sign 'Cinematic Orchestra' swings back and forth with the gentle breeze. It squeaks and croaks to the delight of its rustic hinges. A penguin with a top hat leans on a white lamppost. He leans in silence with a large black robe wrapped around his ample frame with a blue dickey bow wrapped around his large square neck; a vision of perfected ignorance, blissfully unaware of the razor sharp tear in his blue striped trousers.

Chooh! Chooh! Chooh! Choo! An orgasmic clockwork beat from the rushing steam train. A husky voice; a voice of one thousand potato wines blissfully howls out: "All aboard the Cinematic Orchestra".

Name: Terry the Pixie

Number: 45

Date: 3rd/May/2007

Time: 8:00

Location: Cardiff

The pixie find his carriage aboard the darkened corridors of 'The Cinematic Orchestra'. Standard Class; he dashingly removes his purple pointy hat and pulls out a black top hat and a snakeskin leather jacket from a side pocket. Black and white photography litters the carriage walls, hidden in black glossy frames. The faceless passengers glide across the surface after swapping their eyes, noses, and lips for an iced coffee from the penguin with the top hat. The women lean against the cool blue corridor, their pneumatic bodies serenely at rest reading american editions of the outsider upside down. The men stand cross-armed rolling their eyes to the beat of the steam-powered engine. A young gentleman shoots an army of prawns chasing a white dinner bowl with his movie camera. The carriage next door hosts a monkey balancing cars on his head, he sings to the chants of the sun and rain. Terry the pixie glances outside the window watching fields of rolling hills and valleys and slowly glides off to a deep, deep sleep.

© 2007 Paul Griffiths

© Miwsig