| General Fiction posted September 21, 2017 |
  |
A beginning.
Sea Of Stone
by Heather Knight
Note. These are the first few words of what might be my next novel. I'll keep you posted. I hope it doesn't become one of my many half-finished projects.
There's a graveyard in Madrid where the tombstones grow so close together that they look like a sea of stone.
The sun shines on them and bounces off the sharp marble edges as if trying to escape the cold, neglected atmosphere of the place.
That's what you see when you look at it from a distance. From the road, you only notice the vastness, but when you come near and start analyzing the details, a sense of disgust invades you. Or maybe it's just fear, because you know you'll end up there one day.
This graveyard is a place of death, of faded plastic flowers and tacky marble statues. It's also full of stories.
In one of the graves lie the remains of a man who died (according to the inscription above) in 1998. His name was Jose... and he had a story.
*******
There's a nursing home in a small village in Guadalajara. Ironically, the building used to be a school. It's got white walls and a patio with a beautiful beamed ceiling through which you can see the sky. It also has a garden full of pine trees that are as neglected as its elderly inhabitants. It's not sinful neglect, it's just a slight lack of love.
Inside, in a long room with two televisions, there are around twenty or thirty old people. They sit and wait, sometimes they talk, sometimes they just stare.
On one of the brown chairs, there's a plump lady with shoulder length hair. She's forgotten most of her life, but is happy in her ignorance. She's even in love... and she has a story.
Note. These are the first few words of what might be my next novel. I'll keep you posted. I hope it doesn't become one of my many half-finished projects.
There's a graveyard in Madrid where the tombstones grow so close together that they look like a sea of stone.
The sun shines on them and bounces off the sharp marble edges as if trying to escape the cold, neglected atmosphere of the place.
That's what you see when you look at it from a distance. From the road, you only notice the vastness, but when you come near and start analyzing the details, a sense of disgust invades you. Or maybe it's just fear, because you know you'll end up there one day.
This graveyard is a place of death, of faded plastic flowers and tacky marble statues. It's also full of stories.
In one of the graves lie the remains of a man who died (according to the inscription above) in 1998. His name was Jose... and he had a story.
*******
There's a nursing home in a small village in Guadalajara. Ironically, the building used to be a school. It's got white walls and a patio with a beautiful beamed ceiling through which you can see the sky. It also has a garden full of pine trees that are as neglected as its elderly inhabitants. It's not sinful neglect, it's just a slight lack of love.
Inside, in a long room with two televisions, there are around twenty or thirty old people. They sit and wait, sometimes they talk, sometimes they just stare.
On one of the brown chairs, there's a plump lady with shoulder length hair. She's forgotten most of her life, but is happy in her ignorance. She's even in love... and she has a story.
There's a graveyard in Madrid where the tombstones grow so close together that they look like a sea of stone.
The sun shines on them and bounces off the sharp marble edges as if trying to escape the cold, neglected atmosphere of the place.
That's what you see when you look at it from a distance. From the road, you only notice the vastness, but when you come near and start analyzing the details, a sense of disgust invades you. Or maybe it's just fear, because you know you'll end up there one day.
This graveyard is a place of death, of faded plastic flowers and tacky marble statues. It's also full of stories.
In one of the graves lie the remains of a man who died (according to the inscription above) in 1998. His name was Jose... and he had a story.
*******
There's a nursing home in a small village in Guadalajara. Ironically, the building used to be a school. It's got white walls and a patio with a beautiful beamed ceiling through which you can see the sky. It also has a garden full of pine trees that are as neglected as its elderly inhabitants. It's not sinful neglect, it's just a slight lack of love.
Inside, in a long room with two televisions, there are around twenty or thirty old people. They sit and wait, sometimes they talk, sometimes they just stare.
On one of the brown chairs, there's a plump lady with shoulder length hair. She's forgotten most of her life, but is happy in her ignorance. She's even in love... and she has a story.
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Heather Knight All rights reserved.
Heather Knight has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
