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Rhythm of the Night

Starting at the foot of the steps of Advocate's Close, I suddenly took myself into a world that surrounds me but is no longer present. A car drives down the cobbled road but as I look up, its gone. A soft, captivating voice guides me up the stairs, making me more aware of my surroundings, the things I would usually ignore. Vents become intriguing, windows becomes stories, the walls explode with history, even a piece of chewing gum is enthralling. It's still there.


"Touch the stone"


Thundering suitcases are pulled frantically down the steps towards me, but as I expect to be pushed by, they vanish. Yet, the sound of them passing, remains. Exiting the close, stepping out onto the Royal Mile, a sense of power prevails. Marching down, the drums guide me, the horses walk with me, the canons excite. This is a real patriotic moment, until I exist, and the beginning of a new narrative takes over.




Being guided through passages, over the roads, down steps, over bridges - I lose a sense of control, although by the touch of a button, gain it instantly back. I allow myself to be taken down dark, alleys which I would usually not dare do alone. There is a strange sense of security create by the tone of her voice.


"like a small memory of the person tying it"


Memories unravel as I explore the depth of the history within the streets and walls. There is a timeless feeling standing beneath a building, seeing it once, twice, three times -all at a different stage of its life. Experiencing double was unsettling because she warned me to walk around the group of people but expecting to walk around the absent, they were in fact, completely present.


blue doors

red paint

arrows

notes

white chalk

string

closes

footsteps

drains

vents

stone

steps

rhythm


Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap,tap. A crescendo builds and shivers start to run down my arms. The the rain comes pouring down but never touches me. They come towards me, expressing movements, to the sound of silence. I appear, I disappear, I stay. Looking up, lights flicker across the wet pavements, the cars light illuminate roads and the few people left, walk briskly. I remove the headphones, turn the phone off but the rhythm of the night continues.


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    ©2019 by Lauren Ferguson

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