It’s a solitary tower. At one point it was surrounded by a village but that has long since vanished, ensnared by the clutches of time. The tower somehow seems to be beyond time, somehow unclassifiable. Depending on the position of the sun the colour of the tower changes. From different vantage points its appearance changes. Seen from one side the tower becomes taller, its bricks in a different order. Another side shows it to be shorter and constructed of wood. Some times it disappears from view, reappearing in the dead of night. It has been seen by numerous people of all professions in a multitude of forms. It cannot be a hallucination.
It is Thursday, evening time. The tower is blue and made of fish bones. From this side at least.
The courtyard is filled with people. At the end of everyday they disperse and return to the castle. The next day they return. Some days the yard is busy and loud, constantly in motion. On others it is silent with everyone not moving for the duration of the day. On occasion everyone wears a mask and on other days no shadows are cast. The changes show no rhyme or reason. The only certainty is that they happen.
It only comes out when the night is quiet. It wanders the streets, focusing on anything that grabs its attention. Yet if anyone disturbs it, the entity runs away. It has been pursued many times yet no one knows what it is or where it comes from. For when it turns a corner it vanishes. The pursuer follows, crosses the perpendicular and its gone. On an empty street it has disappeared, faded into the night. It must be kept in sight. Even if that is managed it leads people into mazes of cobbles and gutters, vanishing in alleyways and side streets. Standing in an urban labyrinth the chaser hears splashing. They look down. Its making its way through the sewers. It seems to be a wraith traversing between reality and a different plane of existence, coming in and out of actuality as it pleases.
Its body is encased by a ragged hood. Its face is covered by a mask of feathers.
Parts 2 and 3 inspired by Last Year at Marienbad, directed by Alain Resnais and L’Avventura, directed by Michelangelo Antonioni.
Feedback welcomed. These are kind of small and possibly building blocks to bigger things.
Sometimes I wonder, I wonder what you see. Because I can see quite clearly from your lush descriptions these worlds, and I wonder how far off I am.
Although for the second piece I think of the people being like litter, that they disperse/scatter at night and are blown back in to the courtyard in the morning. That their raised sound is the rustling of their movements on a blustery day and the silence is their united stillness, as if they cannot move. I don’t know, but that’s what came to mind. I can even picture these people, their action determined by wind.