The Castle
The Castle
I do not know how to describe this place, a manor, maybe a villa? It looked like a castle to me when we drove up the dirt driveway, beyond the gated entrance. “Did royalty once live here?”
I asked Cillian and he laughed at me, something he has made a habit of lately. I let it slide, don’t make a fuss. Everyone views Cillian as the knight in shining armor. He is rescuing me. He is my savior. Cillian fits the role too well. When I first met him, I thought he was a true gentleman and the accent had me disarmed immediately.
He was older, handsome, successful, a true artist. I have not seen that man in a while, because I got that man to my hotel room the first night. Now, I fear he looks at me like a child. I guess that does make him a gentleman, he doesn’t find children sexy.
Well, I decide to call this place a castle. I do not get to make many decisions here, so I will enjoy my choice. I live in a castle by the sea, in a far north green land; with red foxes and apparently no snakes.
If I was allowed to write a script about this place, it would probably be a horror movie. The castle is old, creepy, and secluded. I have never been somewhere that gets so dark at night. It would be a great setting for a zombie movie. The climax, a place where the hero thinks they’re safe, only to find they have to fight for their life against the uninfected. The theme would be ‘What losing your humanity means’. Wait, I think that is already a movie. But there are no zombies in my nonfiction world.
So why am I here? Locked away, far from society. Maybe I am the zombie, and they need to keep everyone safe from me.
New Hobbies
Counting has become a new hobby of mine. I count everything, how many tall bushes are in each row in the garden. I count the dull shined wooden planks on the floor. I count how many stones make up the fireplace mantel. I count how many doors are locked.
Now let me show off a little, I want to count all the boring activities a person can do in a day.
One: Eat an already prepared breakfast.
Two: Take a walk in the garden.
Three: Eat a prepared snack while looking out the window.
Four: Play the piano, but only for two hours a day.
Five: Sit in a kitchen and watch someone prepare dinner. I no longer offer to help; I know what the answer is.
Six: Sit across from someone I’m no longer excited to see. If anything, it makes me anxious.
Seven: Wander.
Wandering is my other new hobby; I wander room to room looking for adventure. The castle is great for this activity, so many forgotten places. I enter them with a curious energy. What has happened in here? Who has made love in these beds? Who has cried sitting in these chairs? Has anyone died in here? I make up fantasies in my mind, secrets of the castle. Stories about forbidden love and jealousy; their beauty and sadness in perfect harmony. I keep my stories to myself. Making up stories, I’m told that’s one of the things that made me sick. I am here to be cured. I am here to relax. I am here to get better. Stories will not help with any of that.
