Squonk

In the old days, there was a town of noble standing and high regard, and in the center atop a hill, there sat a large stone castle. The king lived—so it was said—on a high gold throne in a grand tower inside the castle, and to reach the room was impossible. The people of the town lived in discontent under the rule, and unhappily went through each day growing more quiet and more obedient, until the town was nearly silent, colorless, and frozen.

One day, a courageous man decided that he had had enough of living in the shadow of this unfeeling ruler, and decided he would speak to the king about the general discontent. As he passed through the streets he was met with confused stares and sometimes hopeful glances from the oppressed and afraid townspeople. The courageous man strode purposefully to the base of the castle’s outer stone wall just as the sun disappeared from the sky. Grey and cold, the wall extended to what seemed to be the very heavens of the earth, and upon following its vertical line back to the ground, the man noticed a very small and crooked old woman standing at the great threshold of the castle. She stood before two large doors embossed with gold patterns, and as he approached her, thinking she the gate-keeper, the woman held out a hand to stop him. Her wrinkled hand pointed towards a smaller door, more hidden within the stone wall and somewhat more foreboding. The stars began to emerge in the sky, and with their light and the light of the moon, the courageous man found the handle of the door and opened it without a second thought. If this door was the only way to see the king, then he would have to go through it.

The tiny door in the stone wall led to a long maze. It was enclosed in what felt like a cave, and he could keep no track of time in the darkness. Sometimes the man was forced to stop, invisible hands holding him back from deciding which way to turn, and after what felt like eternities standing at crossroads, he found himself again at the base of a large door. This one was also very fancy and the design intricate, so much so that he felt he would in no way be allowed to pass through, no matter the time he had already spent in the impossible maze. After pacing for quite a long time, the courageous man noticed a door in the wall beside the large one, as before. It too was very small and he had to crawl on hands and knees to fit through this time. He felt emboldened in the moment he passed through the door—but the feeling left him as he found himself inside a small glass cage. He was suspended high over the town, and appearance of the new day’s sun soon betrayed his imprisonment to the now hopeless townspeople. The small door had disappeared; the wall near which his legs rested was smooth and transparent.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the man tried to get out of the cage in vain, all the time becoming more and more aware of the people, , watching him from far below the castle. As day wore on, the man grew less and less alert—it seemed he needed to neither eat nor drink—and by evening he had become lethargic, his mind slow and his limbs limp and useless. As evening approached the man felt himself grow older and older, and soon he could no longer see the people in the town through the walls of his cage. He began to only see his own reflection, which had become wrinkled and aged in time.

The glass did not make an infinite cage for the man—just for that one day, and when the sun went down the townspeople could no longer see inside the glass cage to see if the man was still trapped inside. It mattered not, for he died and the imprint his face and tortured body left on the glass remained, though few townspeople were awake as the sun came up that next day and shone enough light for those on the ground to see the now empty cage disappear.

The story was passed down through generations, and though a tragic and hopeless one, it was continued in the telling for as long as the castle sat menacing and ominous atop the hill.

posted by Sarah Ruiz  # 8:36 PM