Essay on the listeners

Submitted By benthomas98
Words: 702
Pages: 3

Hesitantly, on a dull and drab night the drained and distressed traveller rode his trusty steed through my imperious gate like a minnow entering my arena. An obnoxious attitude was something he hadn’t obtained. I bellowed down for him to prostrate, however he didn’t. Evaluate your options I pleaded with him, before I act… at your expense!

In front of him lay: a man’s worst nightmare; an ample amount of dead grass screaming for attention; and an abundance of deceased daffodils commemorating the lost souls taken by the phantoms. I pondered if this was a wise choice by the ludicrous traveller entering my grounds. But my cotton candy words did not appeal to his taste.

As he ambled down my dusty path my attention turned to his only accomplice, the horse, unfortunately a disheveled creature almost unkempt in appearance yet able to carry such a shoddy man. The horse was leant down chomping away at my fresh grass, such an exquisite sight for an admirable specimen. All there was for him to hear was the alluring sound of near silence, by virtue of the calming wind whistling nonchalantly past his gaunt face. An aroma of agitation and turbulence meandered through the air and up his nose. Agitation distributed from the encroaching traveller and a threat of turbulence from myself. A storm was brewing and not just in the night sky.

‘Knock-knock’ how dare you. The futile traveller makes his biggest mistake so far. My moonlit door shakes and sends a shiver up my spine. Suddenly I feel so hungry I could eat a horse. From the outside I’m towering and wide, made from hefty dark grey stones that are sandwiched together by crumbling cement. Held up by colossal pillars bigger than my dominance over the land, that scream with the pain of holding me up. My windows sometimes rattle, vigorously from the howling wind, as though they are about to fall out of their frames, which are made from rotting, decaying wood that’s being eaten away by woodworm. A few potted plants lay next to my door, once there for neat presentation now wilted brown and dead and present for other purposes. My cryptic door has been left slightly ajar, perhaps for many years, or maybe someone is already here…

‘K-kaw, k-kaw’ a bird flew up out of one of my significant turrets sending a piercing screech out into the desolate night abyss, as the wind howled it’s mighty objection to his appearance. Startled, the skittish traveller bellowed up to me, “Is there anybody there?” but no one descended. The traveller stepped back and gazed up at my extensive and awe-inspiring structure.