For my brilliant friend's counterpart of this concurrent themed creative writing project visit: http://thebeatlesandblackcoffee.blogspot.com
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Weekly Creative Writing #12
The cone shape of the tower etched itself into the fiery sky. Smoke danced around the tiles which made up the red pinnacle. The flag - once proudly declaring the crest of the family - was now limp in submission to the escaping heat, scorched and burned by the flames which tortured it earlier that day. The geometric perfection of the summit was easily visible as it carved itself finely into the stark image of a setting sun, which mirrored the events of destruction that chanced to fall on this small castle in Spain. A fire. A day of war - arrows had hissed like serpents, swords had clashed with such viciousness it was as if the gates of hell were rattling every fleeting moment. And lastly, a demonic ball of fire was catapulted from the enemy into the very bosom of the lordly structure. Everything that could burn, burned. Only the stony skeleton of the castle remained. The once lively fortress now lay charred and lifeless as the night’s stingy grasp dragged it into the depths of darkness. This tower, out of the five carefully built into the architecture of the castle, was once a chapel - a small place of refuge for the inhabitants. No doubt, the golden instruments and decorations within it were, if not melted by the earlier river of fire, charred by smoke which wafted throughout it like a vengeful wraith. It was wearied, defeated, weakened, but it stood. It stood as the martyr among the others - the endurer of the crucible. The heart of the castle no longer beat, but remained a painful, bleeding, and burning reminder of the souls which once surrounded it. And then it sank with the sun - deep into the abyss of the night, enveloped in smoke, and moaning like a dying ember.