Story About a Fiery Past
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The stormy weather reflected the storm of my life, some call it bad luck but I say that its the mystery of life. I walked absent-mindedly around the once polished and furnished room, this place was my home. I loved the round oak tables, the solid wooden chairs, and the wash basin that seemed almost forgotten by time. I peered into the courtyard and noticed the towering stone nymph fountain was now dross and mossy, dead vines encircled and entangled it like fingers clasped around a wine glass. The grey clouds heralded the downpour of rain that filled the fountain and the waters shivered with every drop.
Everything cascaded into a mellow silence which harmonized beautifully with the now quiet droplets of rain. I reminisced the days when I lived here with my sister and she would sit on the piano stool on evenings. The soft notes fluttered around my head while the chorus of creatures lingered in my subconscious. After she finished, she would giggle and glance at me with her brilliant green eyes. Her smooth, pink skin stretched as she smiled mischievously. She would fiddle with her flaring velvet coat and gleaming blue sashes that fit perfectly. Back then I was happy that she could laugh even though we were alone in the world.
Our parents died when we were at a young age, our uncle took custody of us. We grew to like our uncles place but nothing could replace our home. Immediately as I was of age, I took my sister and headed towards our old home. The wine cellar was still there, our mom would always sit by the fountain and sip elegantly on her glass of wine. I should have known that all good things come to an end; my sister was killed six years later in a house fire.
The tragedy had taken full toll on me; I was put into a Mental Institute. I was discharged after two years. The first place I ran to was my familys French mansion, well what was left of it. I passed the now blackened wash basin and the charcoal bathtub. The oak tables were amongst the rubble and so was my favourite wooden chair. I turned towards the window to gaze at the fountain which was remarkably standing. As I squinted through the window pane I noticed a figure sitting on the fountain, it was the figure of a woman. This woman held up what seemed to be a wine glass as if she was saying, “cheers.”