Of Castles in the Sand

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Fireside Tales
Fireside Tales

The moon shone brightly as would a freshly minted silver coin, polished and valuable. He could feel the many pairs of eyes on him their silent plea almost palpable. He stoked the fire they were all gathered around, then cleared his throat as if he was about to speak but settled back into his ancient rocking chair. The chair creaked like a dying creature of the night. “Please sir” a little voice piped ‘Tell us a story” another chimed in. He looked around at the heads all nodding in agreement. This was part of the ritual on nights like this, he told stories, sometimes they had meaning, the value of a story without meaning you ask, why that’s the best kind of story, told simply for the telling.
“Very well” he finally acquiesced he took a long deep breath and let it out slowly “I will tell you the story of the day I died.” There was a collective gasp and a young voice asked “But grampa, if you died how come you are here with us?” He laughed then replied “Well maybe I am a ghost, anyhoo, I am the storyteller and the storyteller reshapes the tale but never lies.”
“Where to begin, where to begin” he muttered almost to himself. “Start at the beginning” someone yelled “The beginning is always a good place to start” another agreed.
“Very well, let me start at the beginning. On a moonless night, unlike this one I was born__” A voice cut him off just then, “But grandpa isn’t that too far back? Ma says we mustn’t stay up too late and you mustn’t tell us scary stories some of the youngins are scared of the dark.” “Child are you not afraid? You should be, witches are abroad this very hour” “Grandpa you mean the witches are overseas? Did they fly by aeroplane?” The old man laughed then replied “Remind me to never send you to law school.”
“I was born at precisely midnight on a moonless night unlike this one many moons ago. I was delivered by a half blind midwife in a hut without lights on the darkest night of the year. They tell me I never cried, not until sunrise and some said it was an omen that the darkness walked among us as man that day, marking souls to reap. I grew up knowing that the night was simply a shadow of the day and the time would come when I had to face the one who walks in the shadows, planted in the desert sand just like a root___”
“That’s when you died grampa, am I right?” a voice cut in again “No silly, he didn’t really die gramps was being metaflolyric” another answered.
“The word is metaphoric, now hush, as any man, I cared not much for darkness or being planted, so I went to see an old man, who knew many secrets, and is said to see more kneeling down than someone standing on his tiptoes on top of the highest mountain and that is metaphorically speaking. He told me, this man, that my destiny was to walk and find the secret at the heart of the desert. Many men attempted this journey, never to be heard of again but I knew I was different, was I not born on a dark night feared by wise man. I set out with only the clothes on my back, some sensible shoes and not much of common sense, because after what seemed an eternity of walking, I grew thirsty and had no water. I asked myself if anything could possibly get any worse, the desert accepted the challenge and conjured up a sand storm. Sand blown all over the place, howling as if the gate keepers of the beyond had come for me. I kept walking, by then rather, I think I was crawling up and down the massive dunes that seemed to pop up from nowhere. The storm passed, as all things do, nothing lasts forever, not even the bad things more so the good, the irony of balance.”
“After the storm, I had sand in my eyes, my clothes, sand in places you do not even want to know” Some giggling broke out, he waited for silence. “I was at my lowest my dreams crushed, lost and waiting to die, the desert does that, destroy dreams and kills flowers, it is a desert after all.” He paused to stoke the fire and to shift his position, the chair he sat on groaned as if in sympathy. “That is when I saw it, the oasis. A perfect island of lush green on a sea of sand….. and a castle. A castle in the desert, with a fountain in its courtyard I could almost taste the water that sparkled more precious than diamonds, diamonds to a man in the desert mean nothing but water, is life, and here was a fountain full of it, life. I descended from atop the dune tumbling, crawling and clawing my way with a purpose of singular intent, water. I dived into the fountain and that’s the last thing I clearly remember. I am told that I must have gotten lost and went round in circles till I ended up diving into the ancient well next to the old man’s house. I was found days later, dead they thought but miraculously I was still alive and recovered. They say castles in the desert are simply sand dunes and mirages of thirst addled brains but I know what I saw, now off to bed all of you us old ones never sleep because the story never ends, that’s immortality for you. When everyone was gone, he was the only one left, such as it is with all things. From underneath his tunic he brought a bottle on a silver chain, with water that sparkled beneath the silver moon, poured a drop on the ground and took a small sip.
The End.

On a whim I decided to dabble in a #blogbattle hosted by Rachael Ritchey and the theme: Oasis. This feels like my first night at Fight Club 🙂

55 Comments

  1. Pingback: #BlogBattle Week 23 “Oasis” Entries & Voting | Writing Rachael Ritchey

    1. inspired by my granpa, he used to tell us stories and we was always curious asking a thousand and one questions.
      Glad you enjoyed it and thank you for reading
      ~B

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  6. Did he die? Did he really see a castle? I think he did see that castle!! Loved this tale. Loved the interaction between grampa and the kids. Was fantastic. My favorite word picture was this, though: ” He paused to stoke the fire and to shift his position, the chair he sat on groaned as if in sympathy.” I don’t know why, but I guess I could just hear the creaking of the chair in my head so well by that point in the story. 🙂

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  7. Welcome to Fight Club,! Alas you CAN talk about this club 😉 This story, your way with words is beautiful. They are smooth and your description is flawless. One section really stuck out for me:“I was born at precisely midnight on a moonless night unlike this one many moons ago. I was delivered by a half blind midwife in a hut without lights on the darkest night of the year. They tell me I never cried, not until sunrise and some said it was an omen that the darkness walked among us as man that day, marking souls to reap.” Although I enjoyed the entire piece, this right here took me in an entirely different imaginative route. I imagine an ominous being, an anti-hero, beginning his tale, here, at that moment and then his world and his quest, whatever that would be unfolding in first person. I kind of think of Doro from “Wild Seed” but a “doro” readers would love. If you haven’t read “Wild Seed” by Octavia E Butler, DO IT! Great story! So glad you participated 🙂

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    1. Candice Candice Candice,
      I said that three times
      cause you are thrice as nice hahahaha hey that rhymes….
      I am ever so glad you you are glad 🙂

      Alas, I am not familair with Wild Seed but I do know a Strange Seed fantasy series by T.M. Wright. I will however make sure its the next book I read (currently between reads so that’s fortunate )

      ~B

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      1. 🙂 I will look up the series you mentioned. I promise you will not regret reading Octavia’s work. And the novel can be read in a day.

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      2. Guess what I have started reading, you are right, its unputdownable (is that even a word?)
        Doro is quite the character there is always something about a rogue, yes?

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      3. Ha! It is now lol 😀 I love that book and the next one. Octavia Butler was a master at creating charge you emphasize with and might hate at the same time. Glad you got your hands on her work.

        Liked by 1 person

      7. 😀 that is how I felt when I first read it! Glad I got to share. If you like time travel check out her book Kindred, it’s a heavier read but still fantastic. Mind of My Mind is the sequel to Wild Seed…but you have probably found that out already.

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      8. Do I like time travel????? hahahaha
        so I guess thats +2 more added to my to read list…
        I see what you doing turning me into Octavia Butler fan…
        I sees you lol

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      9. Ahahahaha! Yet my plans have born their fruit. Matters not that me schemes have been uncovered now Muhahahaha! Seriously I am glad you like her. She was an incredible author. She won several awards for her writing. I have to share the wealth you know 😉

        Liked by 1 person

      10. absolutely! thank you for sharing, I am richer for it, now I am slowly turning my friends into fans too.
        She was a phenomenal writer my only regret that it took me this long to come across her works but I am fixing that a book at a time
        ^_^

        Liked by 1 person

      13. That makes sense. You know you are hooked and are powerless but to yield when you say things like “get in over and done with.” Tis a good thing.

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    1. Hi Steph I felt like I was telling the story as opposed to writing it hahaha and glad you liked it thank you for the compliment I am taking that as a compliment. a weaver of tales ….I like that
      ~B

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  12. Pingback: Of The Pieces Of Others In Me – Becoming The Muse

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