James Leonard, or The Resurrection

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
... a continuation of a life and time and love cut short, blossoming in the death and withering of another, triumphing in the tragedy of one so young ...

Submitted: November 27, 2009

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Submitted: November 27, 2009

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Twinkle Twinkle.
Oh what a great tune!
Don't we all know it.
Let's sing it, eh? How about it. Don't you hear the twinkle, the gaiety, isn't it wonderful? Oh what a catchy tune, oh what a great song. What a genius! No? What a man! What a person, to have written it! What a wonder, what a tantamount to human greatness. And don't you wish, for once, that you had written it?
Oh but let me tell you. I knew a man who did. He was born in '56, name was James Leonard, and his birth made no headlines, no mentions, no article in the local newspaper. But he would, oh yes, he would. My, what a wonder he was. I remember him, just as if it was yesterday.
I saw him at a concert. It was amazing! Fantastic! My God it was beautiful! He walked up that day, I remember everything, every second, every piece of it, and he stood on that pedestal like some kind of pagan deity, arrogant and conceited. He was better than everyone else, and he knew it. 
The day was highly anticipated, of course, I mean this man was a virtuoso. There was not a man let down. The moment he stood up there we knew. God, you should have seen those eyes! They burned like a fire, not coals, not anything of the sort, but like a hot, burning flame. And his poise, God his poise! You should have seen his erect back, his straight neck, the way he held himself! So unnatural it couldn't be a fake, an act, a poise adopted in the name of uniqueness. No, it was real, more real than anything I have seen before or ever seen since... And he lifted his arms, and he waved them, and the music began.
It was performed by a thousand  men, congregated together to praise a piece that was Him but not Him. A million people praised the sound which vibrated off the stage and into a blasting of joy. A billion souls gazed as what should have been Him but what was Not Him was plastered into the essence of every spirit on the planet. And one man stood, a continuation of a life and time and love cut short, blossoming in the death and withering of another, triumphing in the tragedy of one so young.
I traveled a million summers, a trillion afternoons, circled around the globe half a dozen times, that day. I had goosebumps, running from spine to spine from the eeriness of his beauty, the impossibility of it all.
The critics raved and the orchestras played and the men performed - men who had lived and soon would die if only to play part in a day's worth of ecstasy. And thus what should have been was, and what never was, should have been. And He walked for a day among his pride that was followed through one who had waited and suffered for 35 years for this moment of his liberty.
And I cried and I cried and I sobbed and I knew, that He was Him and he had come and now I was a part of it all.

But at midnight, under a trillion spotlights of fame, James Leonard fell to the ground of his stage.
At midnight, under a trillion diamond jewels of red, pink, and blue, James Leonard fell to the foot of his throne.
At midnight, under a trillion cries of joy and redemption, James Leonard Mozart feel to his knees and died.


© Copyright 2019 Graham Johnson. All rights reserved.

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