What is a writer?
A miserable little pile of words!


Call me MP or Miz


Fiction attempted, with various levels of success.


Yes, I do need help, thank you for noticing.



ImpressionsOfDetail
@ImpressionsOfDetail

A weathered pillar amid the trees, once-carved human figure eroded to irregular fluting and the deep hollows of a face. Perhaps it still has voice enough, if you know the way to ask, to whisper you one answer.


relia-robot
@relia-robot

previously

The traveler checked their map against outlines of the mountains towering beyond, took a few compass readings. It had been centuries. It's possible there was simply nothing left. They checked the sun, and resolved to continue looking for at least another hour before heading back to camp.

An hour and a half later, the sun was setting, and the traveler still hadn't found what they were looking for. They cursed, and a chittering above them let them know the displeasure of the local squirrel population at their language. They shaded their eyes to look up at the nest, then- there it was!

The traveler stumbled backwards, quickly unslinging their pack to dig for the ancient sketches they'd brought copies of. Yes, this was it! The prophecy room! The statue here, a piece of wall overgrown by moss there, a tree standing in the great doorway, a small brook where the line of petitioners would have gone, but this was undeniably the place!

The traveler quickly went about marking their map and taking photographs in the fading light. There was so much to do! They took a picture of the statue, or what was left of it... and paused. It still mostly had its face, and they could see one arm bound by vines, but who knew where the other arm had gone in the intervening centuries. The veil that once had been placed over the statue was long gone, and it was covered in dirt, moss, and pinecone shavings from the squirrel nest above it.

Operating more on impulse than proper preservation methods, the traveler broke the vines on the statue's arm, freeing it. They hesitated, then genuflected in the style of the original petitioners.

The statue remained still.

The traveler sighed. "I guess you didn't get out after all." They packed up their things and began to leave. As they turned to go, they heard a grinding, mechanical noise, and turned to see the statue's arm moving. Slowly, joint by joint, it reached up to the remains of the face, and pulled forth an oiled lead ingot. Awestruck, the traveler took it gently, and hastily translated the ancient language:

"And yet, I am free."

The traveler looked up at the statue. They listened to the forest, the wind in the trees, the babbling of the brook, the calls of the evening birds. Then they smiled, and genuflected once again, before turning to return home.


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