There is someone still alive in that castle, who has watched people die.
The walls are silent with echoes of footsteps long gone, and the air is heavy with secrets. Each window frames a memory—faces of people long gone pressed against glass, pleading for escape.
The survivor moves like a shadow, carrying the burden of countless stories untold.
A single hand scatters seeds into air. Soon, grass grows on the walls, while petals rise against the grey stone, defiant and bright.
Red blooms carry the message to the outer world.
“Who wants to meet me when I step out?”
Beautiful 💜❤️
LikeLike
Ha, yes, if she was stuck sitting in that drafty place for centuries her joints would have rusted shut completely. Moving around keeps the old hinges from seizing up, even if it is just pacing the flagstones to stay warm.
LikeLike
A compelling challenge.
LikeLike
That bit about petals rising against the grey stone really got to me. It is a striking image after all the heavy air and shadows in the first part of the piece. When you spend decades just sitting still with your own memories, your hips and knees tend to lock up like old castle gates. Just shifting your weight slightly from side to side while seated can help loosen up a tight lower back without putting too much strain on the joints. I really felt the weight of that solitary survivor scattering seeds into the air.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I hope she was moving around in the castle 😄
LikeLike
This is a compelling piece, Reena. Your first sentence is a grabber!
LikeLiked by 1 person
So glad you found it compelling. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I wonder if this is a challenge? Meet, in what sense?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Meet and listen to her stories.
LikeLike
Love the idea of the walls being human.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLike
love this 🌹🤗
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much!
LikeLike