Sunday, August 1, 2010
The castle on the hill
On the top of a dying hill, a castle stood. Her walls were the color of fresh cream, her towers' roof a sky blue. All around her was nothingness. Like an arrogant loner she stood alone in a barren land, high above the rest, cut off from the world. The road leading out was destroyed many years ago. Her inhabitants, regardless of lineage and age, lived in fear. Fear of being found, fear of being taken away, fear of meeting the same fate as those who tried to run. Though the war has ended a long time ago, her inhabitants were not aware. Being isolated from the very beginning, they received no news about what's happening outside their sanctuary. Their white prison. Many years has past since the last daring youth left the safety of his home. An orphan, he took off when he was a young lad. With only the clothes on his back and a small knapsack, he sat off. Unknown to those who lived in fear, he discovered that the war had ended, the battle won, and those who allied the white castle were more than happy to welcome her back. This story was told to me by my great-grandfather. And now I am going to tell you. About the story of the lad who overcame all odds to save his people...