Definition: (n.) "contemplation of dust;" reflection upon former civilizations and peoples, and on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.
Note: Still haven't written anything blog-worthy in a while, so here's an older story. Enjoy!
Prologue
The King smiled down at his empire. He was at the top of his castle, looking down at the great towns down under him. Peasants walked around below, merchants urged people to buy their products, and artisans displayed their beautiful art pieces. The King straightened his shoulders.
The walls of the city were great and wide and thick. They would keep out the rivaling empires for many years to come. He thought about his daughter; how she would take over when he died, and her children, and her grandchildren, and many more children to come would take their place as leader.
His empire would be the strongest one in the continent for years to come. Through droughts and famine, they always survived. Nothing would take them down. Nothing. And he would make sure of that.
“Father?”
The King turned to where the small voice was coming from. The King smiled at the sight.
“Anya,” he said, scooping the small child up.
Anya smiled, tugging at her father’s beard.
“What are you looking at, Father?” She asked.
“I’m looking at our Kingdom, Anya.”
Anya looked below at the city and sighed dramatically. “It’s the same every day.”
“Ah, but it’s not,” the King replied, a sparkle in his eye. “There’s something new and unique every day.”
Anya looked up at her father, the sparkle reflecting in her own eyes.
“You just have to know where to look.”
Present
I walked through the dust-ridden forest. Small, sad walls jutted out of the earth. Maybe they’d once been big and grand. Dusty pillars fell lopsided on the ground. Perhaps once shining, they were now gray and dull. I knew that this had once been a great kingdom. It was hard to imagine now.
I walked through the forest. Vines curled around all of the cracked stones. Some had intricate carvings of horses and flowers and people. I pictured a great army, strong and courageous, plowing through the grass. In my mind, their armor shined brighter than the sun at noon, and their horses neighed and snorted. Back in reality, all that was left of that were the carvings. I laid a finger over them, tracing the indents.
Pages of old books littered the ground. The corners of some of the pages were singed and ripped. Some of them were childrens’ books. I pictured a little boy, rosy cheeks and bright clothes, sitting in his mother’s lap. He would clap excitedly when his favorite part of the book came, and cover his eyes in fear when a scary part arrived.
I spotted a wooden chest jutting half out of the ground. I pictured a woman in a beautiful dress folding her letters carefully with nimble hands and putting them in there. What sort of letters could they be? Perhaps boring legal documents: loans, mortgages, bills. Or maybe letters from friends- or a lover. I wondered what she would have thought now, that her precious letters were littered all over the ground and trampled over by hooves larger than my palm.
An image tickled my mind. I looked at the clearing, pivoting on my feet. Maybe this had been the royal courtyard. A family of three- no, four. A little boy, barely five years old, ran across the grass, giggling and swinging his arms. His father followed, chasing him, a neatly trimmed beard playing at his face. An older girl- but not by much, maybe only two or three years- played in the mud, uprooting flowers and bunches of grass in her thick fists.
The mother. Brown hair, brown eyes- no, hazel. Long brown hair sat atop her beautiful face, her eyes fixed on her little girl.
Now, sweetheart, don’t destroy mummy’s flowers, she’d say.
A kind voice, like a sweet summer breeze. The girl would whine but oblige, much preferring to sit in her mother’s laps as her mother’s hands stroked her soft head.
The image swirled and popped and disappeared. I was back in the dusty old clearing. Cracks and vines and all.
I smiled at the image. This place had once been great, hadn’t it? You just had to know where to look.
Credits:
- Image: NB Magazine