And here we are again. I was going to say on a wonderfully sunny Sunday afternoon. Except it started raining a little time ago so it's now a wet Sunday afternoon. Still, you can't have everything
So I guess you've logged on to see what utter drivel I've come up with this time haven't you. Well, you won't be disappointed.
Right then. Most Friday's I, along with a couple of writer friends, go to a random word generator website. The word we are each then given forms the basis of a story we then go away and write if we get inspired or, in reality, have the time to do. This Friday the word I got was:
Fountain.
As you will see what came out has very little to do with a fountain. Although it does in a way I suppose. I use these exercises as a way of experimenting with different styles and ways of writing. Some work, some don't. I did consider adding a last line but after reading this through thought better of it. I think the ending works as it is.
Ta ta for now
***
Secrets
An old man sits
beneath an oak tree, the breeze gently cooling his face in the hot sun. He
watches the people who have come from miles around just to view the statue of
the princess. They come from the various kingdoms of the land and from far across
the seas just for one glimpse of the fragile perfection. Some will stare for
hours at the delicate carvings debating the pose and expression on her face.
She is wistful they would say. She is dreaming some say, others that she is
sad. Some just want to see and admire the exquisite workmanship, the subtle lines
and curves of her face and hair cascading over her shoulders. Some even throw
coins into the ice cool, clear waters of the surrounding fountain. Such a
treasure, they say, could only have been sculpted from true love. Hence it must
bring good fortune and luck to those that make a wish to it. Standing in the immaculate rose gardens in
the old king’s palace, it stands as a tribute. Though the king is no longer
there, the palace is kept in all its splendour for the visitors who visit daily
to marvel at the wealth and magnificent opulence. But it is the statue and the
fountain surrounding it that they will remember when they leave. Built from a
solid block of marble the sculptor had spent ten years of his life working on
the piece, carefully chipping away at the stone with the most delicate of
touches. He could not be rushed, harried, forced or coerced into working
faster. Sometimes he would not touch it for days, weeks even months at a time. My
hands cannot achieve perfection at this time so I cannot work he would say, his
tears glistening like diamonds in the sunlight as he gazed upon his slowly
forming masterpiece.
Now it stands in
the garden and only the old man knows her thoughts, for they are his thoughts
as well. A true love they say, and he smiles a sad smile, for he knows they are
right. It was a true and perfect love. But it was also a love that could not
be. A love between royalty and a commoner. A love between a princess and a
sculptor.
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