Once upon a time, upon this same soil, another kind of world existed. This world, however, in no way resembled the present time and very little of it remains. It was full of unimaginable wonders and perils too easily imagined. The kind of world that lives only in your classic fairy tales and folk law. Myth and legends that you no longer believe in.This world was filled with a form of the rawest beauty that made the landscape both hypnotic and nauseating. The kind of beauty that could make your eyes bleed, like diamond dust in the air. In this world, a long time ago, I was born to my Mother, Amicia, and Father Brahm, who raised me after my Mother’s demise. This world was a harsh one and unforgiving upon weak bodies and bore illness' stronger than even my Mother's willpower. She did fight, mainly for the sake of me, her only son, to keep on breathing one more day, one more hour, one second longer. She wanted time... and time is was such peculiar thing back then, as I am sure to explain to you soon. But inevitably my poor Mother left me. She left, and I can't recall her ever being here… and so I grew up, like a plant from rot, tended by my Father as he grieved for his lost love. This, I think, made me stronger the others; less coddled but always very much loved. I think that my Father saw in me what he saw in my Mother, caring for me to keep her alive in some way. I don't think I could ever fully understand this love. He wanted me to be what their love had been, immortal and beautiful. If only I could have lived up to his wants for me and I wish that he were still here today to tell me how to love again after such a great loss. But, dear reader, it is not my intention to tell my life's story to you. My intention is to tell you the circumstances as to how I am still living. It want to show you my love, in a fickle attempt to regain it, to try imagine the reality of you reading someday this as I watch you from afar, I want your reaction, your heart, you love maybe? But I need your promise.
The sun burnt a hole in the sky of the world that once was, yet the light didn't ever fully reach the earth that lay limp, barren and clammy underneath the dry air, the only food that would grow an ashy brown yam that tasted so bitterly sweet that I can still not find any reason to miss it. In this past world the night was day and the day was night, neither standing out more significantly than the other. It had always been this way for us and showed no signs of changing. I lived in a small village, just on the outskirts, near the City Castle. I remember looking at the grand barracks, an architecture unlike that of medieval evil kings which seem rather bland and tame in comparison with our castles peeks and turrets, and I sat upon the shoulders of my already elderly Father, his hair greyed, my Mother long since departed, its stone tan walls were greatly impressive to me then; each window looking like a claw mark by some giant best cutting into the masonry, but all within seemed light, spacious, cool and restfully safe. Its silhouette was clean cut against the amber sky, proud, safe and watchful. I dreamed that someday that I should be allowed to venture inside; maybe sleep one night in a tower like a young prince may do, for children do fancy these such things. My Father told me a story about the castles origins as a form of never ending bedtime story.
One story that stood out to me the most was one with a young prince, and I shall tell it to you. He was the youngest son in his kingdom so his father gave him the most turgid and barren lands as it was all that wasn't promised to his elder siblings. He walked for fifty days and fifty nights with only his companion, a small brown mouse, for company and protection. When he came across a large putrid ditch he knew he must have found the correct place. He began collecting stones but found only small pebbles but that did not deter him. A day later and the very castle that I had admired as a child was built, every detail crafted perfectly in awe inspiring miniature. The prince turned and crouched down to his mouse companion once he had done and asked her what she thought? The mouse scurried with excitement into the castle and let out a great squeak that frighten the prince into thinking that one of the pebble chandlers had fallen onto her.
Moments later, the building began to shake. The pebbles growing to stones. The castle growing to full size. The startled prince arose and stared up in shock of his beautiful castle, now towering above him. The stone castle door stood open, and a brown haired maiden was stood in the doorway. She spoke to him in a high pitched voice.
"My prince. I have watched and loved you for so long and I thank you for rescuing me from your fathers castle. I was so touched by your gesture of crafting me a castle of my own that as reward I have made your own big enough for us both to live together as king and queen."
The prince squeaked. Never had he seen a woman that looked so much like a mouse. He walked past her into the castle. Not one chandler had fallen and no dead mouse could be found. The brown hair lady began to grow weary of the princes' stupidity and with a twitch of her nose she brought down a chandler from above the princes head and crushed him to death. She promptly transformed back into a brown mouse and waited for other mice to join her in the dead princes castle. Eventually, more mice came and they ate him.
My Father passed away rather suddenly and the family home became mine. I was a young man then. I should explain one thing; in this world time was only young itself and it hadn't quite worked out seconds from hours, hours from days or days from years; it ravaged individuals rather than the population, separately and maliciously. And as it did this, it was hard to grasp ones age. But I’d say I look as a man in his twenties would look today, and I still do. Time seemed to favour me, in a way. The home wasn't much to inherit, but it was the fruit of my family heritage, countless generations had been conceived, born, aged and taken inside this small building. I deemed it a fate that was useless to be fought against and put away my childish fancies and began to settle into adolescence. The place was little more than one room, from outside you walked into a wooden door, the bark still on yet peeling away, and went into a room that housed a stone stove that within stoked the smallest of fires yet exhaled thick smoke up and out through a hole in the roof. There was a narrow bed made from straw and sticks with the thinnest animal hide I have ever seen, the animal who gave it up is unknowable, unidentifiable, although I have tried for countless years to recall my Fathers stories about its origin and name. There was little more than that when I first acquired it, perhaps a pot or two but nothing more. Not much was added to it before it was lost forever to me.
If you would like to read more, please leave a comment and I will post the next few paragraphs. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated as I currently trying to extend this plot into my first novel.
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| The Watchtower My Sketch |
The sun burnt a hole in the sky of the world that once was, yet the light didn't ever fully reach the earth that lay limp, barren and clammy underneath the dry air, the only food that would grow an ashy brown yam that tasted so bitterly sweet that I can still not find any reason to miss it. In this past world the night was day and the day was night, neither standing out more significantly than the other. It had always been this way for us and showed no signs of changing. I lived in a small village, just on the outskirts, near the City Castle. I remember looking at the grand barracks, an architecture unlike that of medieval evil kings which seem rather bland and tame in comparison with our castles peeks and turrets, and I sat upon the shoulders of my already elderly Father, his hair greyed, my Mother long since departed, its stone tan walls were greatly impressive to me then; each window looking like a claw mark by some giant best cutting into the masonry, but all within seemed light, spacious, cool and restfully safe. Its silhouette was clean cut against the amber sky, proud, safe and watchful. I dreamed that someday that I should be allowed to venture inside; maybe sleep one night in a tower like a young prince may do, for children do fancy these such things. My Father told me a story about the castles origins as a form of never ending bedtime story.
One story that stood out to me the most was one with a young prince, and I shall tell it to you. He was the youngest son in his kingdom so his father gave him the most turgid and barren lands as it was all that wasn't promised to his elder siblings. He walked for fifty days and fifty nights with only his companion, a small brown mouse, for company and protection. When he came across a large putrid ditch he knew he must have found the correct place. He began collecting stones but found only small pebbles but that did not deter him. A day later and the very castle that I had admired as a child was built, every detail crafted perfectly in awe inspiring miniature. The prince turned and crouched down to his mouse companion once he had done and asked her what she thought? The mouse scurried with excitement into the castle and let out a great squeak that frighten the prince into thinking that one of the pebble chandlers had fallen onto her.
Moments later, the building began to shake. The pebbles growing to stones. The castle growing to full size. The startled prince arose and stared up in shock of his beautiful castle, now towering above him. The stone castle door stood open, and a brown haired maiden was stood in the doorway. She spoke to him in a high pitched voice.
"My prince. I have watched and loved you for so long and I thank you for rescuing me from your fathers castle. I was so touched by your gesture of crafting me a castle of my own that as reward I have made your own big enough for us both to live together as king and queen."
The prince squeaked. Never had he seen a woman that looked so much like a mouse. He walked past her into the castle. Not one chandler had fallen and no dead mouse could be found. The brown hair lady began to grow weary of the princes' stupidity and with a twitch of her nose she brought down a chandler from above the princes head and crushed him to death. She promptly transformed back into a brown mouse and waited for other mice to join her in the dead princes castle. Eventually, more mice came and they ate him.
My Father passed away rather suddenly and the family home became mine. I was a young man then. I should explain one thing; in this world time was only young itself and it hadn't quite worked out seconds from hours, hours from days or days from years; it ravaged individuals rather than the population, separately and maliciously. And as it did this, it was hard to grasp ones age. But I’d say I look as a man in his twenties would look today, and I still do. Time seemed to favour me, in a way. The home wasn't much to inherit, but it was the fruit of my family heritage, countless generations had been conceived, born, aged and taken inside this small building. I deemed it a fate that was useless to be fought against and put away my childish fancies and began to settle into adolescence. The place was little more than one room, from outside you walked into a wooden door, the bark still on yet peeling away, and went into a room that housed a stone stove that within stoked the smallest of fires yet exhaled thick smoke up and out through a hole in the roof. There was a narrow bed made from straw and sticks with the thinnest animal hide I have ever seen, the animal who gave it up is unknowable, unidentifiable, although I have tried for countless years to recall my Fathers stories about its origin and name. There was little more than that when I first acquired it, perhaps a pot or two but nothing more. Not much was added to it before it was lost forever to me.
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| My Sketch |
If you would like to read more, please leave a comment and I will post the next few paragraphs. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated as I currently trying to extend this plot into my first novel.
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Please check out my e-books on amazon kindle.
All works Copyright Kate Ruston 2014
Please check out my e-books on amazon kindle.
All works Copyright Kate Ruston 2014
All works Copyright Kate Ruston 2014
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