MARK GAMMILL
POEMS - STORIES - LYRICS
MY STORIES
Morrison at Midnight
Black Cat
Morrison at Midnight
The air in Paris was thick with mystery and fate as Mark walked its cobblestone streets, the city of lights was now cloaked in dark shadows. The clock tower struck midnight, and he felt an ominous chill run down his spine. Paris has secrets that only reveal themselves after dark.
As Mark strolled the deserted street, the sound of his footsteps reverberated off the ancient buildings. The city was a great source of inspiration that he had visited before to overcome his writer's block. But tonight was going to be different, as something extraordinary was about to occur.
Mark turned a dark corner close to the renowned Père Lachaise Cemetery, he saw a mysterious figure propped up against a lamppost. The man possessed long, wavy hair and donned a leather jacket, much like Jim Morrison, the iconic lead vocalist of the notorious rock band, The Doors. Mark squinted hard, thinking it must be a trick of the dimly lit street, but when he looked again, he could not deny the striking resemblance to the deceased rock legend.
Mark couldn't resist approaching him. "Excuse me," he said tentatively, "but you look remarkably like Jim Morrison." The man slowly turned his gaze toward Mark, his eyes deep and enigmatic which seemed to hold secrets that could never be unraveled. "That's because I am Jim Morrison," he replied with a sly grin.
Mark's heart raced. It could not be true. Jim Morrison died in 1971, and yet here he stood, seemingly unchanged by the passage of time. "But... how?" Jim Morrison's grin widened. "Some people believe that legends never truly die, that they live on in the hearts of those who remember them and I've returned to Paris to inspire a new generation."
As they continued to talk, Mark found himself drawn into Jim's strange world. They discussed music, poetry, and the magic of Paris at midnight. Jim spoke of the unique creative energy that flowed through the city, the same energy that had fueled his own artistic endeavors.
Hours passed, and Mark felt a strange kinship with the man who claimed to be Jim Morrison. It was as if they were kindred spirits sharing a deep connection through their love of art and Paris’s mystique late at night.
Eventually, Jim stood up and gestured toward the cemetery. "It's time for me to go," he said. "But remember, Mark, the Paris night is when dreams come alive and legends are reborn."
With these cryptic words, Jim Morrison walked away into the darkness, disappearing among the ancient graves of Père Lachaise Cemetery. Mark stood there, his mind swirling with wonder and new inspiration.
He knew that he had just experienced something extraordinary, something that would forever change the way he viewed things and his creative potential. He had been in Paris at midnight, and the city had revealed one of its secrets to him. Now he couldn't wait to put pen to paper and capture the magic of that night in a story. He hoped that his tale would leave others wondering if some legends could truly return to life.
It had been a year since Mark's encounter with the ghostly Jim Morrison on the streets of Paris. The memory of that fateful night had never left him. He had spent the past year writing feverishly, pouring his soul into a novel inspired by the mysterious encounter.
As the anniversary of that night approached, Mark felt a deep urge to return to Paris. He needed to see if there was truth to Jim's claim of returning to inspire a new generation. So, once again, he found himself wandering the dimly lit streets of the city, his footsteps softly tapping in the silence of the night.
As the clock tower struck midnight, Mark reached the same spot near Père Lachaise Cemetery, where he had met Jim Morrison a year ago. His heart pounded with anticipation as he hoped to see the shadowy figure once more, hear his cryptic wisdom, and draw even more inspiration for his future writing.
To his astonishment, there he was, the man who looked exactly like Jim Morrison, leaning against the same lamppost. Mark approached him, his voice trembling with excitement. "It's you," he said. "I've come back to see you and I want to learn more."
Jim Morrison's eyes glittered in the darkness, and he nodded. "I knew you would return," he said confidently. "But this time, our meeting I'm afraid will be different."
Before Mark could ask what Jim meant, a strange dark sensation washed over him. It was as if time itself suddenly slowed down, and he felt a pull, a compelling force drawing him closer to Jim. Mark panicked as he realized he could not move away or break free from the invisible hold.
Jim's voice took on an eerie, hypnotic quality. "I do inspire those who seek me out Mark, but I take something precious in return." With those words, Jim reached out and touched Mark's chest and in an instant Mark’s life force began to drain away. Mark gasped for air, his vision darkened, and he collapsed to the ground.
The last thing Mark heard before he slipped into oblivion was Jim's haunting whisper. "Your inspiration will live on in the book you wrote Mark, just as mine does in the music and poetry I left behind. Some legends never die."
As the clock tower chimed once more, Mark lay lifeless on the cold cobblestone street holding the lone copy of his unpublished, recently finished novel. Jim Morrison, or whatever he truly was, had vanished into the starless night, leaving behind a writer's legacy and a chilling mystery that would haunt Paris for many years to come.
Written by Mark Gammill
© Mark Gammill 2024 All Rights Reserved.
In the heart of a quiet, dimly lit room, a frail figure lay nestled beneath a patchwork quilt. The feeble glow of a bedside lamp painted the walls in delicate shades of amber and gold. Surrounding the bed, an array of dried flowers whispered of days gone by.
A gentle sigh escaped the lips of the dying woman, her eyes, once vibrant with life, now clouded with the weight of time. Beside her, a mysterious black cat, its fur as dark as night, sat in a stoic vigil. Its emerald eyes held a secret, a tale known only to the two souls intertwined in this poignant moment.
The woman, barely able to summon her voice, whispered to the cat, "Midnight, my faithful friend, it's time to say goodbye." Her trembling hand reached out to caress the feline's sleek fur, a connection between kindred spirits.
In the days of their youth, they had roamed the world together, chasing dreams. Now, they were bound by the undeniable reality of mortality. The black cat, Midnight, had always been her silent confidant, a source of solace in moments of despair and joy alike.
As the woman's breathing grew shallow, she recounted the stories of their adventures, each word carrying the weight of a lifetime's memories. She spoke of moonlit nights, whispered secrets, and silent tears shared with her faithful companion. Midnight, the guardian of her heart, listened intently, as if understanding the gravity of this final farewell.
Tears welled in the woman's eyes as she whispered, "You were my constant companion and my silent witness to life's most profound moments." She felt her strength wane with each passing second, but her love for Midnight remained undiminished.
With great effort, she managed one last wish, "Promise me, Midnight, that you'll find someone else who needs your mysterious comfort, as you have comforted me." The cat, as if to offer its solemn vow, nuzzled her hand gently, its emerald eyes reflecting the depth of their bond.
As dawn's first light painted the room, the woman's spirit began its journey into the unknown. She felt a strange sense of peace, knowing that her beloved Midnight would carry her stories, her love, and her memory forward into the world.
And so, as the woman's soul took flight, the mysterious black cat remained, a silent witness, ready to share its enigmatic presence with another in need of solace and companionship, as it had with the one whose heart it had once captured.
As the woman's last breath faded into eternity, Midnight lingered by her side, as if waiting for a sign. With the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window, the cat finally rose from its watchful stance. It cast one last mournful glance at its departed friend before slipping out of the room.
Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath. The morning dew clung to the grass, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees. Midnight moved with an uncanny purpose, following an invisible thread that drew it away from the woman's home.
Down the winding streets of the quiet neighborhood, the black cat ventured, guided by an instinct that transcended mortal comprehension. And then, as if by destiny's design, it found itself standing before a quaint house with a white picket fence. In the yard, a young girl with tear-streaked cheeks sat alone on a swing, her loneliness echoing in the empty spaces around her.
The girl's name was Lily, and she had known heartache beyond her tender years. Her parents, gone too soon, had left her in the care of distant relatives who never quite understood the depths of her solitude. Her days were filled with silence, and her nights, with quiet hope and unspoken dreams.
As Midnight approached, Lily glanced up, her eyes meeting the cat's emerald gaze. There was a moment of profound recognition, as if the two souls had known each other in a different time, in a different place. The cat, once the guardian of the woman's heart, now became the keeper of Lily's fragile hopes.
With cautious steps, Midnight drew nearer, allowing the girl to reach out and stroke its dark fur. It was a gesture that crossed the boundaries of the human and animal worlds, a connection forged with shared sorrow. In that moment, the girl and the cat found solace in each other's company.
From that day forward, Midnight became Lily's constant companion. They shared quiet moments of contemplation and playful adventures in the moonlit garden. In the mysterious depths of the cat's eyes, Lily saw a reflection of her own longing, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could be a glimmer of light and hope.
And so, the story of Midnight continued, the mysterious black cat found a new purpose in soothing the heart of a lonely girl. In their companionship, they discovered that even in the depths of sorrow, love had the power to mend what was broken and kindle hope even in the most unexpected of places.
Written by Mark Gammill
© Mark Gammill 2024 All Rights Reserved.