Posts Tagged ‘statue’

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Standing tall over the waves, the colossus gazed out into the west. Once it had looked out over a port, but now that port was rubble. All the ancient buildings had crumbled away, leaving only a few walls and columns to remember them by.

A woman stood in the shadow of the colossus and imagined how it had looked in its prime.

We were a great people once, she thought. We built statues and cities. We were masters of the oceans. 

Now all that’s crumbled away. We huddle in our little towns and small castles, subjugated by invaders, divided by our petty wars. 

Seeing the colossus might have made her weep for what was and lament the passage of time. It might have made her give in and accept that destruction was inevitable.

Instead, what she thought was this: We were a great people once. 

And we can be again. 


Word Count: 150

This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to pricelessly for running the challenge and momtheobscure for providing the photo prompt!

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Painted in bright colors, the two cow statues stood in the center of the square. They immediately drew the eye. It was like gravity.

They hadn’t always been so bright. Once they had been a dark bronze, untouched by the slightest speck of paint. They had been a symbol of strength and power, the crest of the Lord Mayor. Surrounded by a fence black as night, they struck fear into the hearts of all.

Then the revolution had come and everything had changed. All across the city, the old symbols were being covered by new. Evil was concealed, buried under flowers and hearts.

Paintbrushes tamed the cows, making them more absurd than imposing. Nobody feared them now.

But sometimes as people walked past the paint seemed to be stripped away and the terrible beasts of bronze glowered at them again.

Paint can only hide so much.


 

Word Count: 146

This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and S Writings for providing the prompt photo.

This is my entry for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Check out some of the other stories by following the link. I’d also like to point out that it took tremendous willpower to make this story not be about the Weeping Angels from Doctor Who.

Photo prompt provided by Sonya, Author of the blog ‘Only 100 Words.’

When I heard the story, I was huddled around the fire with my battalion in the ruins of the city.  I could see the statue from there, its wings outstretched.

“You know,” Bastiel, one of my brothers-in-arms, said, “there’s an old legend about that statue.”

I was in desperate need of anything to distract from the cold. “Tell me.”

“It was carved by a blind sculptor,” Bastilel replied. “He was possessed by a vision and obsessed with showing the world what he’d seen. After he made the final cut, he said ‘it is done.’ He died at once. Some say that the statue has great supernatural power. Even as the city was shaken by fire and war, it was safe.”

I looked at the statue. The idea of it being supernatural seemed absurd.

Then I noticed something.

Everything else was covered in snow, but the statue remained untouched.