Not A Stone Left

• Bonnie Redfern, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

For many centuries I have stood solitary and alone. My tall turrets are covered by vines and overgrown trees and my magnificent façade, once adorned with marble and statues, is now crumbling and faded. The garden, once a colourful place for festivities and celebration, is enveloped in shadows and spiders. My countless rooms, once filled with bustling servants, are now dusty and forgotten.

How I have longed for someone to find me, someone to evict the wild beasts which roam my halls, someone to restore my former beauty so I may once again stand tall amongst the many trees that mark my land.

Soon they arrived. They looked incongruous, out of place with the memory of those who were here before.

I hoped they would make the gardens once again a paradise filled with intricately sculpted hedges and beautiful flowers that lasted all year round. I hoped that once again my halls would be filled with smiling people and my rooms would be overflowing with precious exotic things from far away, but soon it began to change.

At first they took away the old fountain, it depicted a sea god slaying a mighty serpent from which water spouted.
Then they took the trees, so many that had stood for even longer than I. Trees that had seen the kings of old and witnessed the comings and goings of the world since the first sunrise. It wasn’t long before the serenity of the forest around me was all but gone.

They tore down each gargoyle that perched on my rooftop, they demolished the turrets which had stood tall and proud above amongst the clouds. As they wrenched the plaster and rotting timber from my rooms, they tore from me the memories of those who had lived within my walls.

The laughing voices of children faded as the nursery was broken.
Aromas from long past feasts dissolved and disappeared as the vast kitchens were demolished.
In the library, where explorers had come to document their studies, my recollections of them turned to dust as it splintered.

Eventually, there wasn’t a stone left of the original house, it had been stripped clean along with its history and valuables. In my place, a sleeker, more modern house now resides. With concrete and a pool instead of the magnificent forest which once stood so proud.

Without my vessel, without my house I am but a whisper on the breeze. I drift with my many stories to tell, but no one to tell them too. Soon my house will be forgotten and I will be nothing more than a dream.