Oct 15, 2021

Time is such an abstract philosophy. You do not even acknowledge its passing until the clock signalises its last beat at the midnight of your life. The unending current finally reaches its end, taking everything anything of importance along with it. Most do not even try to fight against this ghastly and invisible beast and just accept that their journey has reached its end. Not me, though.

I believe the world has forgotten the sole warrior that can wage war on the passing of time. A promise. Such a simple word. While its appearance reflects the hopeless fragility of humans, the true core hides behind a mask of quiet obedience. From whispered nothings to outspoken hopes promises to stand true to one’s intention long after one’s body disappeared underneath a cobwebbed piece of wood and a flowerbed, floating silently through the wavering river of tears and grief, timelessly carrying dreams through the woven cloth of fate.

That is the last thing I remember of my past. A simple promise.


My house stands atop a hill, crying in the stillness of a warm summer night. The symphony of wooden moans and dusty tears cover the loudness of the wildlife. I sigh and the house creaks along with my annoyance. I can feel their presence jarring against my spirit, their feet touching the damp ground and their whispered voices through the air. They have returned.

I close my eyes and the house watches the teenagers through the dirt tainted windows. Anger rushes in its walls and stops when it reaches my gut. A popping sound fills the silence. I broke the mirror again.

Shards litter the floor but do not cut my feet when I step on them. I have long ago stopped trying to rationalize why nothing seemed to hurt me. I gently tug on the invisible pattern of the manor and I feel the front door sliding open as if it's welcoming a guest.

I wait at the top of the staircase and track the shy steps of the unfortunate boy who was dared to enter my house. His hooded gaze glides over my furniture and completely ignores me. I hear a whooshing breath as he exhales with relief. He beckons his friends to come closer, but they wisely keep their distance.

I start to descent the stairs one of the times and I see the boys’ eyes widening with unadulterated fear. The one in my house laughs and raises his hands as if chiding them for their behaviour. I grasp his hand and turn him. Disappointment sinks low in the basement of my home. This boy is not him.

Water droplets fall down the teenagers' cheeks, mourning the loss of their master. I wipe a tear with my finger and gently palm his face. He closes his eyes as if accepting defeat and the breeze washes away the particles that blow in the wind. The boy is no longer in my house but has now joined the realm of dreams, where nothing will ever touch him again.

I retreat deeper inside, the stars glittering in the eternal abyss of darkness as if they too grieved for another lost innocent.


The boy’s sounds of agony echoes in the stillness of my manor’s halls. His soul is wandering around the basement, confused as to why his material body left him behind. I pay him no heed and continue my silent vigil, watching as the first rays of sunshine embrace the woods in a warm blanket of safety. While nature basks in the light of the blazing sun, I can only think about how this is the beginning of the end for my hope.


Hands softly hold my body, as if trying to anchor me to reality despite the chilling song of death that thrums into my veins. The war siren wails in the background, hiding the agonized yells of people searching for their loved ones through the rubble that was once an untouchable fortress. One which is untouchable no more.

I try to open my eyes despite the pain, but only manage to widen into tiny slivers. Tears that are not my fall on my cheeks, proof of the desperation that is starting to eat away my lover’s soul. His lips are moving as if he is encouraging me to hold on, but I can feel myself slipping away. Through the last strands of my consciousness, I lift my hand and place it over his heart, promising without words that I will be waiting for him in our house forevermore.


My hand is trailing behind on the railing of the staircase, wiping away the memory that haunts my afterlife. Countless souls weigh down on the house I rebuild and merged with as I stalk its chambers and try to muster some remorse for the thousands of people whose lives I cut short because they were not him.

I stop in front of the doors, opening them for my new guests. A terrifying smile graces my lips as I ponder my predicament. I may have become a prisoner of my promise, but I will always be the one who spins her destiny.

And while my lover will be wandering the unknowns of the aether, I will be here, waiting. Until the day we will be reunited.

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Articol redactat de Ana Sîrbu.

Articol editat de Minciu Ioana.


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