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Sunday, October 11, 2009
If Old Houses Could Talk
What if old houses could talk? What tales they could tell.
The house gazes upon the clandestine primordial lovers seek their embrace under the spreading willow tree, the draping leaves shielding their illicit love. The child that grew within, now playing under its ancient bough brings laughter and joy. What sorrows lie ahead only time will tell but for now.
Life so precious and pure, what wrenching sorrow drives one to the brink of the lake? He stares into eternity the rippling waves tiding over the rocks. What measure of desolation dwells within? The void within. The rage. Sorrow to fill the depths of madness. One moment of clarity then…
gone.
The stately dress, the crisp blue uniform long gone, coursing slowly across the burnished floor. Walls no impediment to the gently swaying pair, circle the room once, twice, thrice. The strains of a departed ensemble echo across the ages. They gaze longingly and then smile then are gone, lost to the past.
The blank stare of the empty windows, the creaky staircase spiraling to rooms previously occupied with laughter, love and tears. The kitchen no longer smells of roasted meats, crisp apple pies and warm cocoa. The tattered gingham curtains blow restlessly fueled by rain-driven wind through the shattered window. Night stalking creatures now occupy the cellar once stocked with coal to ward off the cold, crisp wintry nights. The foyer invites no more, the hat rack now empty. The spacious library devoid of books, of robust banter, of a languid life, is now a tomb.
The blank ghosts of lives past live on in the shell of the house. Oh, the tales it could tell if only it could tell.
The house gazes upon the clandestine primordial lovers seek their embrace under the spreading willow tree, the draping leaves shielding their illicit love. The child that grew within, now playing under its ancient bough brings laughter and joy. What sorrows lie ahead only time will tell but for now.
Life so precious and pure, what wrenching sorrow drives one to the brink of the lake? He stares into eternity the rippling waves tiding over the rocks. What measure of desolation dwells within? The void within. The rage. Sorrow to fill the depths of madness. One moment of clarity then…
gone.
The stately dress, the crisp blue uniform long gone, coursing slowly across the burnished floor. Walls no impediment to the gently swaying pair, circle the room once, twice, thrice. The strains of a departed ensemble echo across the ages. They gaze longingly and then smile then are gone, lost to the past.
The blank stare of the empty windows, the creaky staircase spiraling to rooms previously occupied with laughter, love and tears. The kitchen no longer smells of roasted meats, crisp apple pies and warm cocoa. The tattered gingham curtains blow restlessly fueled by rain-driven wind through the shattered window. Night stalking creatures now occupy the cellar once stocked with coal to ward off the cold, crisp wintry nights. The foyer invites no more, the hat rack now empty. The spacious library devoid of books, of robust banter, of a languid life, is now a tomb.
The blank ghosts of lives past live on in the shell of the house. Oh, the tales it could tell if only it could tell.
A short story
“Why so sad me beautiful lass?” He asked.
She looked down at her three bristle- haired children. She’d been with him now nigh almost five years. How could she tell him she longed for her own kind?
“Ye’ve done me proud since you came,” he continued. “I dinna think ye had it in you at first.” Juliana looked around at her home.
She sighed, “I never thought I’d be able to call this place home.” “It’s so different,” her words trailed off into her own thoughts. “It’s so alien from what I’d ever known; so unlike my world.” Her last born squealed with laughter at the antics of her first born, snapping her back from her musings. Her husband, “Yes, she could call him that now,” she thought, grunted a low command and their youngest offspring stopped the mayhem and scampered off to hide.
“Is it truly so hard to be away from those of yer own kind, lass?” he asked.
Juliana looked at him in surprise. “How did you know I was thinking that?” she asked. “I’ve known ye for long these five years now.” He continued, “Ye were mightily unhappy when ye first came to be with us after the great fire. At first ye were a slave like all the others. Ye did not openly rebel and therefore lived. I protected ye from Elan. I could see the good inside of ye that ye kept hidden. After a time ye were allowed to become one of us.”
The great fire. That is how she now too thought of that moment in time. Her thoughts drifted back to the day she arrived in this barren place that she now called home. Their ship had crashed. Someone had sabotaged the ship’s navigational computer. She could now still only speculate as to whom. Only a handful of the crew and she had escaped the fireball. Warily they had banded together to avoid the dangers of this foreign world. They traveled by night and slept by day, searching for some suitable shelter – any shelter after a few days. Food rations were low to begin with and then non-existent. No one dared eat the indigenous plant life or animals – if you could call these alien creatures, animals. Juliana lost track of time on this quest. One night, the group instantly awoke to a strange grunting noise. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed odd boarish-shaped beasts. They walked on two legs, and did not have cloven feet or hands! “How strange” she had thought, “for pigs.” She was instantly snapped to awareness with the sharp point of a spear.
“Aye, it was a difficult time.” She answered him. “But it is over now and I am here with you.”
“Would ye change any of it?” he asked. Juliana did not answer him. She kissed him on the snout, turned, and returned to tending her garden. She was content – for now.
She looked down at her three bristle- haired children. She’d been with him now nigh almost five years. How could she tell him she longed for her own kind?
“Ye’ve done me proud since you came,” he continued. “I dinna think ye had it in you at first.” Juliana looked around at her home.
She sighed, “I never thought I’d be able to call this place home.” “It’s so different,” her words trailed off into her own thoughts. “It’s so alien from what I’d ever known; so unlike my world.” Her last born squealed with laughter at the antics of her first born, snapping her back from her musings. Her husband, “Yes, she could call him that now,” she thought, grunted a low command and their youngest offspring stopped the mayhem and scampered off to hide.
“Is it truly so hard to be away from those of yer own kind, lass?” he asked.
Juliana looked at him in surprise. “How did you know I was thinking that?” she asked. “I’ve known ye for long these five years now.” He continued, “Ye were mightily unhappy when ye first came to be with us after the great fire. At first ye were a slave like all the others. Ye did not openly rebel and therefore lived. I protected ye from Elan. I could see the good inside of ye that ye kept hidden. After a time ye were allowed to become one of us.”
The great fire. That is how she now too thought of that moment in time. Her thoughts drifted back to the day she arrived in this barren place that she now called home. Their ship had crashed. Someone had sabotaged the ship’s navigational computer. She could now still only speculate as to whom. Only a handful of the crew and she had escaped the fireball. Warily they had banded together to avoid the dangers of this foreign world. They traveled by night and slept by day, searching for some suitable shelter – any shelter after a few days. Food rations were low to begin with and then non-existent. No one dared eat the indigenous plant life or animals – if you could call these alien creatures, animals. Juliana lost track of time on this quest. One night, the group instantly awoke to a strange grunting noise. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed odd boarish-shaped beasts. They walked on two legs, and did not have cloven feet or hands! “How strange” she had thought, “for pigs.” She was instantly snapped to awareness with the sharp point of a spear.
“Aye, it was a difficult time.” She answered him. “But it is over now and I am here with you.”
“Would ye change any of it?” he asked. Juliana did not answer him. She kissed him on the snout, turned, and returned to tending her garden. She was content – for now.
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