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It's weekend again and we are having a cold weather here in the City of smiles. And I am done watching the six seasons of Downton Abbey for several days. I have nothing to do earlier, so I decided to write another short story. Hope you will find time reading this too...
The rhythm of the white horse's footsteps came to an abrupt end, feeling its harness being held back by a strong force. Gracefully, the man possessing dark, wrinkled tuft lowers himself from his horse. Boots lining up with the patch of flowers that bloomed over the rough and dry soil over the past years. It was filled with the scent of flowers. The place was even more marvelous than it was when everything was lively. Between the bushes and their loads of purple, red, and white flowers, the grass wet from the rain was full of smaller flowers: pink ones with only three petals, pink pansies, tulips, dahlias of different colors, orange lilies, marigolds, and others. The way it were distributed along the soil was kind of messy, but he was no longer surprised-the garden of flowers and bushes were long left unattended. He knew.
What appears before him was an abandoned castle, run-down, destroyed from war; pools of crystals gleamed in nostalgia, and somehow sadness it bore. He walks slowly, feeling the soft breeze gently brush his skin, the moonlight enlightening the path towards the entrance, as if indulging him to walk closer. Which he did. His smooth fingers gently caresses the large oak door; with all the strength he could muster, it budged. The loud, creaking sound of the old wood tingling his ears.
The interior was still the same, only except the pillars were knocked down to the ground, creating blockage towards other entrances. It was dark and dull, but somehow, the vivid light from the moon crept and made its way in; from the large windows on the walls, the broken ceiling and from the entrance he went through. He swung out his left arm, his navy cloak fluttering as he began swaying. The bottom part of his boots thumping lightly against the linoleum. An odd warmth slowly began to engulf his body, the empty spaces between his fingertips were filled by this warmth. Pools of crystals illuminated and suddenly the ballroom was lively again. His body began moving to the rhythm of the music.
This was his Merry Go Round of life.
He could hear the laughter of the women from the sidelines, murmuring over the bunch of handsome men; he could feel their presence dancing along to the sweet tune of the music.
Slowly, his eyes flutter open, suddenly he was wearing his old apparel; luxurious navy tunic, decorated with embroidery, gold lacing, white trousers, and his navy cloak that hung loosely against his shoulder, pinned to the side of his chest; black gloves and a figure stood too close before him, presence lingering.
He knew so well who it was.
For a brief moment, the memory remained before everything vanished and reverted to how it was. Abandoned castle; dark and dim, his navy cloak, mere white long-sleeves and black trousers. A warm smile appeared on his lips before he truly releases the familiar warmth he grew fond of. Quietly, he exits the room he's in, several hundred blue butterflies suddenly flies off to the night sky from the bush of yellow roses. The orchids began sprouting from the soil he steps on, leaving a flower patch of pathway to the castle. He clicks his tongue, a whistle followed it, his horse came running to where he was. He began stroking its mane to soothe it.
He took one last glance, a sigh beholding sadness and sweet melancholy left his lips.