The monastery cast a long shadow across the grounds, a long shadow over my life, an even longer one since. That broken-down stone finger dragging at the sky, pointing accusatorily on high. Nameless grave-stones, too long abused by the ravaging of time sat, nestled in immaculate lawns – the lawns not forgotten. The bodies long gone the way of the flesh.
Gone, dissolved into nothingness.
From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust.
In God we trust.
He hath abandoned me.
Their bodies are gone but still they wait out eternity, those middle-class monastics buried just beyond the chapel’s fallen walls. I dare not tread in their sanctuary, dare not burst through from my world of prophets and madmen – I dare not interrupt their penance.
My freedom lies within those walls, above that emerald sea of consecrated ground.
I dare not interrupt. Soon the walls will fall, and an end to this peasant’s journey will have begun.
Soon the walls will fall.
What is another hundred years?
Nothing, to a being like me.
Another hundred years – or so I thought.
Until in came the National Trust.
Now scaffolds encase my treasure, and the footfalls of tourists disturb my rest.
What is another eternity?
Everything, to one who has waited so long.
I will rise again.
Written (a little too late) for this weekend’s Flash! Friday photo prompt. A little attempt at humour, which isn’t something I write too often. Tell me what you think!