Rose,

Reads: 414  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Rose. This short ones unreal. Questioning the mind of the old Castle keeper, who watches for any guests. Very short, and a very mysterious story...

Submitted: September 07, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 07, 2008

A A A

A A A


Night fell upon the crenilations of the old exterior wall, as the ancient glow reflected sharply against the harsh ruins that remained. Within the interior, stood a lowly house, too large for a slum, yet too small for a manor. its tall, spiked corner towers spiked into the nights sky, as if piercing the very fabric of the separation betwix Earth and the life beyond. Deep into the cosmos, we find this portrait house, stood blankly amongst the safe ruins of old. The stone was of a fresh cut vareity, with sharp and dense slices, made effectively by the carpentor-there was no doubt of that. Within the gothicka manifest, a merry ole' gent was sat in a rich and crimson arm chair, complete with a short head rest to hold his weary mind. At a look, the gent was clear in his experience and his time, even if gone forever. He stared into the long drawn pire in strange estonishment, while he sipped gently from his goblet, filled generously to the brim with rosé, imported from Sevilla, Spain, that very same day. A wealthy yet generous gent, a deserving wealth if you will. As he sipped the rain battered the spiralling French panes, making it an impossible ordeal to draw the findings of the landscape. For that was the work of the gent- the use of the paste and brush. Although a mystery on how the interception of this largely known wealth came about, it is inferred that ansestry orders kept him funded. As the rosé was poured he hummed lightly to himself. In his mind's eye, he repeated the humming. Although, his mind's eye was blank, and blind to the concept of sober. The humming was repeated back through the empty hallway. All that the notes then accumulate is a girl-not of great importance stood in the doorway. She gripped the door, and threw it to the ground. She simply looked at the old gent. She laughed. He laughed. And then darkness. But researchers of the subject in astrulbeings, say the word, one single accented word, not even of our own vivid language is repeated in the halls. 'Rosé'.


© Copyright 2020 James Carey. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

More Thrillers Short Stories