Image taken from an old calendar
I arrive at the castle barefoot. Yellowed grasses wave to me from both sides of the winding road.
I wave back.
The road rises now, up tiered stone steps to the arched doorway. A way in, or a way out?
How I wish I could join the grass. We match–the grass and I. Both yellow and thin and pushed every which way all day long.
I’ve never been in a castle before.
Do I knock? Or wait for someone to call me?
The door is right before me now, tall and dark red like blood. It won’t ever bend like the grass. No matter how much wind and rain beats against it.
I decide not to knock. If they truly want me, they’ll come. If not, I can turn around–run fast as my legs go back through that grass, across the bridge, and away from this place forever.
No one would notice one missing little girl, would they?
I am just about to make my escape when the blood red door moves. It isn’t light that spills out, but shadow.
“Come,” a voice beckons. “We’ve been waiting.”
