The Wahg-ala-zar

Inspired by Cartera's story about a writer.

In the daytime, as he meandered along the dusty streets, the children ran alongside and gave him fruit and bread. Sometimes, when he returned from his day or week or year of absence, he would smell of a dead animal, his hair tangled and his eyes wild. Other times he smelled of meadow flowers and his eyes twinkled with tears just below the surface.
The townsfolk threw fairly big rocks and sticks at him, and chastised him for the things they were suffering, and pretended he was a fool.
Which occupied more space in their heads than they would admit, it seemed.
What will ya do when ya get old, ya crazy bugger? they would ask, with real concern posing in front of envy.
A few of the folk seemed incapable of continuously using the fellow for a whipping boy, and an excuse to shout and vent. They made sure he was whole physically, giving him ground herbs and garlic in potato soup.

In the night, at the Tavern, when all were in the Spirit, and the Moon sat at the top of the bleachers, he shared the pipe with the demoncrats out back. After while, he would go in.
They all loved him in the spirit, and rolled on the floor with laughter while he plunked away at an old guitar with two rusty strings. His beautiful voice carrying an unseemly blue aura which flowed through the crowd.
Later, while the children slept in front of the GreatHearth, they gave him a cigarette.
He smoked slowly, enjoying, and Jennie sat on his lap
"Tell us again the story of the Wahg-ala-zar!" they pleaded.

When the Sun rose in the morning, it was to a peculiar melody.

Reviews

[Crowley]

Done with vision that only you have mijo. This speaks volumes of the insecurities and similarites that we all share as human beings. Who is to say which life is the one best lived or if maybe we are all destined to live one of the many lives offered, after all someone has to do it, and the rest will be envious of one thing or another and content that their life is better in other ways. Moving piece.

[bbb]

I absolutely enjoy the poetry that shines through in this piece. By poetry I am referring to the stunning visuals you have created in this story. I can see, hear, smell, and almost taste the flavors woven throughout. (If that makes sense.) I could envision this story going on, I honestly am unsure if it should end where it does. I've been given a glorious sample of a character, and would like to get to know him better. The summary of my review is: Yes, of course I loved it!!!

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

This story painted images in my mind of a wonderful soul who was loved when it was convenient to love him. Excellent

[patricia]

You are a fantastic writer, this story was instantly gripping, some great lines too! Thankyou.

[cartera]

Superbe. I do mean that. It is, as you thought, right up my street. Well done.
What can I say? The introduction of Wahg-ala-zar was superbe.
The last line was the line of philospher/poet.
Give us more.
I'm just going to read it again. And probably again and again.
. . . . .
Thanks for that nice statement that brought me to this one.
. . . . .
Blimey. I've just noticed what you've written under the title. I am humbled, old son. Truly humbled. Thank you. You've made my day. And probably more.
ATB
Alex.

[Desert Dreamer]

We need more of these wandering storytellers in our world. A story with great meanings, a story to ponder.

[Samuel Dickens]

You've written just enough here to pull me in and make me want to hear more. C'mon, who is this odd fellow, where does the story take place and what about this Wahg-ala-zar?