SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The tower

The tower.

Sandra Viglione.

The night was clear, at the tower’s feet. Some night flowers opened up to the sky in shades, escaping from the darkness of the forest. A slight brightness emanated of the stone tower, but the light didn’t reach the flowers. Neither to whatever was running among the undergrowths. A furious flapping was heard above in the branches, and a giggle for all the answer. 

Did it escape from you again? 

The voice came from a shade, sitting in the steps of entrance to the tower. The owl ululated from the tree. 

Yes, I guessed it...  

The figure next to the door let out a sigh and looked up. 

They are very brilliant today... I would like him to see them... 

And it examined the shades of the forest again, where the owl was still perched, only its big eyes visible in the darkness. A crack was heard. The figure turned to the sound and it distinguished a slight movement. The owl fluttered and went away. 

Ah. I thought that it would be today... Thought you were coming... 

With another sigh, the figure leaned back on the wall’s cold stone and it continued waiting. The stars shone a little more. 

The tower window opened over an ocean of darkness.  

From the tower there are no stars to see, believe me, I already was in a tower like yours. 

That the letter said. An owl had brought it long time ago. In the eternal night of this place it had been an entire surprise. The letter came from below. They waited him.  

Below...  

Below? Maybe it did exist, a Below? He had been so much time in this place, this observatory... this prison, the letter said, but he could no longer remember it. Prison? This was not a prison, he said to himself. I chose to be here. 

Nobody chooses the tower. 

Nobody... What could they know? He gleaned some moments in his memory, but he could not remember why it was so important to remain here. But it was important. That he remembered clearly. He returned slowly to the window and leaned out to the ocean of blackness. There, on the horizon some ruins were seen, maybe another tower similar to his. Ruins. Ruins resting in the sweet shades, spreading a delicate brightness, as saying I was here. I was here. I am here. I complete. I do what I musto do. I wait...  

What is it you’re waiting? 

Again the letter. He turned ot it annoyed and watched the old papers resting on the table, with a faked innocent aspect. Deliberately he turned his back on them. What was he about...? Ah, yes, I wait... I wait. That is my mission. That is what I’m supposed to do. Waiting. Something is goingo to happen, and I must wait here for it, until it comes. 

And if it doesn't come? 

He looked back. On the table, the letter remained immobile. 

Over there, there are no stars... 

It’s true, he thought. But... what are the stars? Did they ever exist at any time? He shook the head. They were lies from the letter. Only lies. The stars had never existed, and if at some time he thought they did, well then... he had been wrong. They never had existed, the stars! The sky was just this, this infinite well of shades. 

From here you may see the stars... 

A lie! There is not such a thing. 

And they say that further on, they are still more brilliant... They say, and I havn’t seen it, that  further on, by to the river there is a party... They say that there are bonfires, and people dance by them, and that they laugh, and that there is an entire banquet. Don't you want to come down? 

Come down? What was it speaking? 

Here, even at the foot of your tower, the flowers open up, perfumed, to look at the stars... 

Foolishness! Nonsense! Flowers? Stars? Just night and cold stone! But this was the way it wa supposed to be. Coldness and darkness. And this waiting... What is it you’re waiting? 

Yes, what is it you’re waiting for? 

He turned back again, and the papers on the table fluttered lightly in the breeze. What is it you’re waiting for? 

You know that my time is limited, the same as yours... the papers whispered. 

Before or later I’ll have to cross the river. The same as you, the same as all of us. The Boatman will come for you, for me, for all of us, and he doesn't care if you were in the tower or in the party. Or in the forest. 

The forest. For one second he thought he remembered the forest... He shook the head and discarded the thought. The wind entered through the window and took away the letter. The yellowish flew out in the night and they sank in the darkness. 

You may be tower, but soon you will realize how much cold is up there, and how black and endless the night is. When you decide to come down, I will be waiting for you. 

He moved away from the window. The table was now empty, just like his thoughts. The forest... Stars? A party? But he should it remain... Wait... Wait for what? Remain?  

He looked vaguely aronund. The candles were almost consumed. As he looked the fading flames, he took his decision.  

Below, the flowers still perfumed the night. The stars shone a little more. Some papers came out flying from a window and they got lost in the night. The figure, sitting in the steps of the tower smiled, and decided to wait a little more.