Born of shadows, born of night.
Born of stone, they wait. Patient, eternal.
“Ugh, those statues are too creepy,” she would whisper each time we walked passed; her eyes would dart, like mad nymphs across the canopy. Looking anywhere but there. “I always feel like they’re watching us. “ Each time I would fling a penny against the cowled masonry, waiting to hear the clink of metal-on-stone followed by its plunk as it sank beneath the water.
Make a wish.
Hope it never comes true.
Every day on my way to work, to the patisserie, to my apartment I would pass them by a dozen times, their cloaks revealing whispers of secrecy, of darkness. Every day another penny.
“I swear I saw one move…” her voice quavered, fearful.
I just laughed, flinging another copper disc their way.
The smell of cold, of rain and decay.
The penny never plunked.
My first ever Flash! Friday photo prompt – and I’m sure that everyone else saw the lurking menace in these statues, but still I had to write it. Also: onomatopoeia! Comments and criticisms always welcome!