Wednesday, March 17, 2010


Tower – 220 words
Kevin Foster

On the ground level of the tower, there is a small chapel, a twenty-by-twenty foot stone chamber. A few short wooden pews line the eastern wall, ending uncharacteristically but necessarily short three-quarters across the room, leaving enough space to either climb the steep stairs in the east or approach the simple shrine furthest away from the door, nothing more than a few candles, a worn bible, and a modest cross fixed to the stone wall. This is where I am. Against the wall at the end of the second pew, I am pressing my cheek against the cool stone, the only part of my face not shielded by the hood of my jacket. My tears have dampened the wall and its dirt is no doubt smeared on my face. I have not come here for the same reason that others do; I have not come to be with anyone I cannot see. Nor have I come here to be alone – I am not alone and I do not want to be. I have come to the basement of this tower to bare myself. Bent on this pew, I am exposed as the stranger that I am. I know that this tower is not for me, but I am here and I do not know where else I should be.

I Do What I Can - Lonely Dear

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