Where Time Runs Out

There’s this thing in my head. A memory, a dream, a wish, a half remembered scene from a movie. I think of it often, picturing it, wondering if I could contrive a story around it, though that’s not the point.

The thing is something simple, and it delves deep into my psyche, and because I’m nothing special, it must resonate with others on at least some level, so I’ll record it here.

It’s about a lonely place. A temple or fortress or palace, perhaps all three. A once thriving hub of the community teeming with hustle and bustle, laughter and sorrow. The whole spectrum of human experience strung out across years and now fallen silent. Entropy has won.

To be alone in such a place. Wrapped in a silence so thick you don’t believe it, and conversations carry on the wind from the depths of time or the recesses of your own mind, not that it makes a difference in a place like this.

What is left of the buildings are little more than remnants of walls and floors, stone steps and columns, worn by wind and rain, and ticks and tocks. You explore the grounds but there is nothing to find. Nothing much grows anymore, the soil is little more than dead roots in dirt. Dust rests wherever the wind can’t reach it.

Where you are is hard to tell, the engraved text on the stone walls and pillars is eroded beyond comprehension. The statues that still stand proud are little more than featureless pillars themselves, nothing to identify them.

Except for one. A statue in granite, or some other hardy stone has stood a better test of time than the others. But who is this? Time has done its best to rob her of her beauty but the life in her eyes persists in the stone, and her gentle smile. Who is she? Did you know her? How long have you been here?

How long? Long enough to doubt yourself. Have you explored the whole place? Perhaps there is more to be seen beyond the eastern wall. There isn’t, of course, and it all seems rather familiar.

The pale sun sets and the stars come out, but you’re not sleepy, you’re never sleepy. So you return to the steps where you always find yourself, and you pour yourself a glass of wine. There is always wine when the sun sets. Best not to question it.

Maybe tomorrow you can look beyond the eastern wall for something new, but for now there are stars to be watched. Not so many as there used to be, it seems like fewer every night.

How long do stars last? You might ask yourself.