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Tuesday, 12 February 2008

Workshop piece #2

It's been a while since I was home. Since I last saw my father's face. I don't quite remember the castle walls, but I remember my last day there.


I was looking for my father - he'd summoned me to the southernmost chamber for a reading session. My father had a lot books - large, heavy tomes and lightweights from our ancestors. Much of my reading expertise was owed to him.


On this particular day, he sat me on his knee and bade me read aloud a verse of our country, smiling as I struggled over the complicated sounds.


I miss the old country now; miss my silk dresses, the chill of morning snow, the smile of my mother as I exited the study. I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.
Who knew that a smile hid revolution? Flames in the north? Climbing into a quieted carriage, I saw bodies sleeping on the steps, wrapped in blood blankets and cried for my father, knowing I would never see him again.


Now my silk dresses have been replaced by the drab of a servant, a shadow of a former life. The countess of her home country, capable of reading the great works, barred by the same ritual that made her great. I look in the mirror now and see a hag, dry and cold through hardship - the rags of poverty my flag of surrender. Before there was only hope.


I used to see greatness - a woman different than me. She appeared one evening, in the armchair next to mine and together we knitted until dusk. She was younger than me, with a slurred tone to her voice and habitual twirling of her hair and I couldn't help but wonder whether she was as lonely as I was - nobody else addressed her.


Alas...I wish now I had left well alone, for in the candlelight, I did not realise isolation had made me mad. There was no one there -had never been - I had always been alone.


Stepping up to the rope, I watch as the crowd cheers and the hangman approaches, waving my dreams goodbye. I will never restore father's honour, never prove my mother's betrayal. I close my eyes as the hangman places the rope around my neck.


I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.

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