Yesterday’s Dream.

(Image Credit : Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

She lifted her pompous fluffy dress a little so that her heel could make a crackling sound on the gravel floor. As she walked along the ancient arches of her fortress, the darkness of solitude gave out an empty echo.

Sunlight filtered through the overhead glass panes as the linear beam manifested itself on the opposite brick wall. A little farther, the rustling leaves suspended a sense of foreboding in the air.

The ten years had been a comatose dream. It seemed just yesterday that the kingdom was rejoicing for her coming-of-age ceremony. It was just yesterday that she was flanked by maids running helter skelter to get the right shade of blush for their young princess. It was just yesterday, that she was wearing an oversized dress whilst the seamstress was about to work her magic.

Yes, it was that moment when spontaneous cries surrounded the impenetrable castle. Metal clanked and red liquid flowed. The cheers for the princess turned into wails of help. It was just yesterday, that she was knocked out cold and locked away into the secret cellar by her mother to keep her away from the wrath of the war.

And now, ten years later, her dreamy eyes opened to a veil of darkness. She felt for the door and the rusty hinges didn’t show a moment of reluctance. She covered her eyes to protect her sensitive eyes; a decade of unawareness to the blinding sun.

Patches of dried blood everywhere, but not a soul to be seen. Broken swords and stories. Memories overwhelmed her temporarily amnesiac mind.

She climbed the twisting stairs, three at a time, as the hem of her dress tore through the sharp screws of the railing. She made her way to the armoury.

Discarded her grandiose attire and put on a metal suit. Threw away her hair ornaments and donned a helmet. Pulled out her rings and held a sword. Flung her heels across the room and substituted them with spiked shoes.

All those years of sword training would not be for naught. Even if there is no horse waiting to be saddled, her feet are sturdy. Even if there is no kingdom to protect or fall, she will proclaim the dictum. Even if there is no enemy in sight, she will scavenge the remains.

Because every princess doesn’t wear a tiara.

This is for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt

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Click here for the previous post. (Instinctual Intellect.)

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Gazing Into the Memory of a Lens.

(Image Source : Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo)

     Opaque foam floats over the ocean-like sky, admonishing gravity. My eyes deceive me as the sun opposes the heavens. Hiding behind the mirage infested water, this celestial rebel admires its refraction; a superimposition on the realm of the sky. As time races across the dainty wall clock, I burn the image into my eyes for future reference. The waves up north traverse between different worlds with a lack of motivation. They blindly follow the beacon of the wind and move ahead.

     The sun peers in a stoic manner whilst reciting incantations worthy of alchemy. The divinity of the Midas touch emerges. The sand timer clogs and with the click of an onomatopoeia; eternity freezes.

The above is a response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt for #writephoto on the Daily Echo.

Thank you for checking out this blog! 

Click here for the previous post. (A Pictorial Saga of Words.)