(PHOTO CREDIT: JOHN BRAND)
First you need to come down the rolling meadows. The lush greenery enveloping you will be, to put it mildly – enchantingly distracting. But don’t worry too much as the scenery will grow into you. The chances of you crossing paths with a fellow pilgrim are exponentially remote. Relics attract neither cause nor consequence these days. In an era where Facebook smothers facts and selflessness is sacrificed at the altar of selfies, the urgent and pre-occupied world has neither time for tributes nor patience for tolerance.
Ok enough of this mindless muttering. You are nearing your destination. The solitary house which is a latticework of roughly hewn stones and tiles that have experienced the raw wrath of nature stands guard like a solitary soldier. The one remaining dusty window neither facilitates an inward peep nor an outward glance.
To the right of this house, dear pilgrim stands the noble monument in the form of a single small blue barn door with a grassy architecture adorning it as a roof. The place where an unknown soldier dived on a grenade blowing himself to smithereens so that his brothers could live!
The only thing left of him was a Cross.
(Word Count: 198)
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. Write a story of around 200 words based on the photo prompt given (above). Hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit HERE.
To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.
