She stood tall on a huge boulder. Her height was fixed and she towered high above others. From her stand, she could from far make out men and women thronging through her home on warm summer days. On cold winter days, all she saw was a vast field of snow, white and icy, surrounded by frozen cone trees. Her draped gown that was once creamy white has now turned grayish. Patches of mold clung to its neat pleats, giving her an ancient rustic appearance. Her gown hung on to her body while her gaze stayed transfixed on the ground. In the distance, she saw the remnants of a medieval castle. The castle had stood there since mid 13th century. It had withstood many historical battles. It had endured centuries of bashes from nature’s wrath. Six hundred years had passed, and the grim and lifeless castle now stood as an evidence of centuries of history.
From the castle, her thoughts shifted to the day she had arrived at this very spot. A man, she remembered, had brought her to life. His hands had detailed every single inch of her appearance meticulously. Inch by inch, every curve and line, he made her with passion, vowing to make her his best creation. After months of sheer hard work, once completed, she was the belle of her town. It was the king who once sat on the thrones of the medieval castle who had ordered him to put her right in this spot. With an unmatchable beauty, as she stood prideful, she was adored by all kinds of folk. Standing in the middle of the town, gazing eyes never failed to admire her beauty.
At first, she was thrilled with admiration from her adorers. People brought her flowers and letters. Her feet were covered with flower petals. The scent of flowers devoted to her made her as fragrant as spring. Shiny pennies were often left at her pedestal as a token of appreciation from her admirers. In return, those innocent men and women awaited her to grant them their wishes, whether small or big. Each night, she would wait restlessly as she yearned to hear compliments from those she was about to meet in daylight.
Alas, her excitement and enthusiasm had been short-lived. As months passed, she no longer felt the same thrill and happiness. She envied men who rode their horses gallantly. She longed to stroll like the women who walked along the long path in front of her. She dreamt to run along with little boys who dashed freely across her. She yearned to dance, swaying her gown as gracefully as she saw little girls doing. As time flew, her envy turned into frustration. Her longing became an ache. Her dream flourished into a pining desire. Her yearning infused unbearable pain into her. As days passed, her frustration developed into sadness. And finally, she was enveloped with loneliness as bleak days became her companion.
Since then, she had forgotten the feeling of happiness. To this day, she stands tranquil, with her soft hands welcoming those who come to her and her wings spread open as an indication of who she was. Hiding her own agony and suffering behind her stony expressions, she dedicated herself to empathy. She has become an embrace to embalm pain and sorrow to men in need. She never asked, yet, after centuries have passed, she remains a beacon of faith and hope for those who visit her.
Unchanged since the day of erection, she waits day and night. In light and in darkness, in sun and rain, in storm and snow, thus far, her spirit never failing and her hidden soul never wandering. For those who came to seek for her magic, she is an intimate confidante with sealed lips. She had listened dutifully to each prayer, every wish and grief poured on to her. She had never been distracted, not once. Her ears listen attentively to each and every one who have come to seek her until today. Her eyes set on her believers who stand before her pouring out their innermost ache, desire and joy.
Every sunrise brings new believers. A mother lamenting the loss of a child, a woman hoping to be united with her true love, a young man longing for his love and a child praying for a nickel. She has heard it all. She receives all that is cascaded to her and remains unmoving. Sadly, she had never once given back. Her voice is only heard to her. Her mien stays unwavering. Yet, she stands holding her role as a hope giver to those who believe in miracles.
Every moon light, she sees those who had not left the Earth after death. They roam around her, lost. She recognizes some from medieval eras, some soldiers dead in battles and innocents died as victims of wars. Nevertheless, all she could do is watch these unfortunate souls wandering lost with dreams unrealized and some in search of the bright light to cross over to the realm for souls.
Her immortality is a curse she now despises as her solitary soul yearns for a companion. She has lost the count of days and years it has been since men entombed her. Through the ages until today, she remains there, waiting for a companion or maybe death, if there is one for her, as she is nothing but a lonely angel, made from stone.
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