Uploaded Fairy [ Editing ]
It was one of those days I had a hard time finishing lines for one of my beheading reference poems. O the short girl walking up the stairs .. but I had no lyrics for the poem, of the tragic life of a fisherman's wife.
I wanted to write a short tale about a fisherman who comes home to find his wife has been decapitated by the ax. I had this way of taking semi-autobiographical elements and turning it into a science fiction and fantasy story, although I refused to associate with science fiction and fantasy magazines and other aspects of that particular culture. Yet I had no experience being on the sea. I had only sailed briefly with my dad, when he would take a break from his work. After all even if he killed my girlfriend and I hated him for it, he wanted to somehow bring me back to his side.
But then I thought of the poor Anna-Marie, something other than myself. I remembered when she told me about the death of her mother, and how it gradually drove her father insane. He would always comment before she died, about how he was never quite the same after her decapitation by the ax in another country she was visiting, and so he never got to return her to France. I suppose criminal intent was a family lineage, yet I saw something in Anna-Marie that wanted her families side to have its story.
And so I tried to think of yet more lyrics: O the short girl walking up the stairs is turning gray, mixed with dirty blond hair. In her wooden clogs that abruptly come to a point, with her arms behind her back, she's offered a joint.
She dies beyond the scaffold stairs.
It wasn't quite what I wanted it to be, but it was something for now. I wanted to come up with even more lyrics.
So I went all out: With a German dress she leans on the block waiting, waiting for the ax to drop. When the blade goes a lop, tumbling curly dirty blond hair goes down.
I wanted something was was more about the husband, so I didn't want to focus on her mother's death for to long:
Here lies the broken thief,
Who stole a coral reef / on a fisherman's boat.
She tossed her husband off the boat,
Not intending him to drown,
Before drowning in her own sorrows,
Becoming a clown.
I felt like I was getting into the rhythm of the poem, though I wasn't exactly sure what the concluding lyrics would be. But I decided, I going to finish it:
Here is the thief,
Whose life came to a stop.
Together they join hands in Purgatory,
Beyond the light in a pop.
The tragic life, Of a fisherman's wife.