Hmm, a surprisingly tricky prompt to work with for the story at this point -- though you'd think a chapel would be an easy place for thanks and giving. It's just that when it's a chapel for a religion you know nothing about working out what they might be thankful for, or expect to give, gets troublesome :) I always forget that Canadian thanksgiving comes earlier in the year, probably because the Americans make a huge fuss about theirs and it kind of swamps out other people. It sounds like it was a good one this year, so I'm pleased for you :)
Thanksgiving Ben let out a low whistle. There were windows all down one side of the room, but these were set with stained glass and it was impossible to see through them unless you were up close. The floor was wooden, the first we'd seen like that in the city, and the other walls were still the ubiquitous stone, but now they were hung with tapestries, cloths, and flags. At the far end of the room there were two floor-to-ceiling statues in the corners, and at first I thought they were of some kind of tree or large plant. At I looked longer at them though, shapes started to resolve themselves and I realised that I was looking at some kind of humanoid: there was a large head with an outsized mouth and saucer-sized eyes. The nose was elongated and thin, almost to the point of being like a mosquito's proboscis. Below that was a long, curving, sinuous body that put me in mind of the stalk of a palm tree, which terminated in what I first thought were roots, then legs (though so many!) and then finally I decided that these were something like a centipede's legs: some kind of flexible, almost tentacle-like appendage that could move the creature around. It took several more seconds before I realised that the statue had arms as well: there were four of them, long and stretching out above the statue's head and across the wall, holding in all four hands, jointly with the other statue, a large mirror in the middle of the wall. The statues were made of stone, I think, but it was hard to tell from a distance and in the stained-glass lighting. Closer to us there were some long wooden benches, like pews but again sized oddly. I looked at them, and then at the statue, and wondered if whatever had lived here had just worshipped that, or looked like it. "What in the name of the blessed Mother Mary?" whispered Jimmy, and I looked over at him. His hand was unconsciously making the sign of the cross over his chest and he looked pale and wild-eyed. Ben, on the other hand, looked like he was in an art gallery (though to be fair, the few times we've been in an art gallery he was: one, thrown out for smoking his cigars; and two, looked like he was at a thanksgiving). "Good question," Ben said. His voice was quiet, and I couldn't tell if the atmosphere of this place was affecting him, or if he was just worried he might wake the statues up. When I had that thought I started worrying about waking the statues up as well. "I'd reckon that if this is their god though, they're pretty god-fearing folk around here." "Yes," whispered Jimmy, and I started worrying about that point that he might just up and faint. "But if this is here, what did they lock up and then wall up?" "Now there's a question I wish you'd never asked," said Ben, and I couldn't have agreed more.
Greg - hah, well you can't say I wasn't thinking of your shrine when I chose the prompt, because I definitely was.
Okay, so there was uneasiness about the bricked up, locked up doorway. These statues though? Straight to 'Nope, get me out of here right now' levels of concern.
2 comments:
Hmm, a surprisingly tricky prompt to work with for the story at this point -- though you'd think a chapel would be an easy place for thanks and giving. It's just that when it's a chapel for a religion you know nothing about working out what they might be thankful for, or expect to give, gets troublesome :)
I always forget that Canadian thanksgiving comes earlier in the year, probably because the Americans make a huge fuss about theirs and it kind of swamps out other people. It sounds like it was a good one this year, so I'm pleased for you :)
Thanksgiving
Ben let out a low whistle. There were windows all down one side of the room, but these were set with stained glass and it was impossible to see through them unless you were up close. The floor was wooden, the first we'd seen like that in the city, and the other walls were still the ubiquitous stone, but now they were hung with tapestries, cloths, and flags. At the far end of the room there were two floor-to-ceiling statues in the corners, and at first I thought they were of some kind of tree or large plant. At I looked longer at them though, shapes started to resolve themselves and I realised that I was looking at some kind of humanoid: there was a large head with an outsized mouth and saucer-sized eyes. The nose was elongated and thin, almost to the point of being like a mosquito's proboscis. Below that was a long, curving, sinuous body that put me in mind of the stalk of a palm tree, which terminated in what I first thought were roots, then legs (though so many!) and then finally I decided that these were something like a centipede's legs: some kind of flexible, almost tentacle-like appendage that could move the creature around. It took several more seconds before I realised that the statue had arms as well: there were four of them, long and stretching out above the statue's head and across the wall, holding in all four hands, jointly with the other statue, a large mirror in the middle of the wall.
The statues were made of stone, I think, but it was hard to tell from a distance and in the stained-glass lighting. Closer to us there were some long wooden benches, like pews but again sized oddly. I looked at them, and then at the statue, and wondered if whatever had lived here had just worshipped that, or looked like it.
"What in the name of the blessed Mother Mary?" whispered Jimmy, and I looked over at him. His hand was unconsciously making the sign of the cross over his chest and he looked pale and wild-eyed. Ben, on the other hand, looked like he was in an art gallery (though to be fair, the few times we've been in an art gallery he was: one, thrown out for smoking his cigars; and two, looked like he was at a thanksgiving).
"Good question," Ben said. His voice was quiet, and I couldn't tell if the atmosphere of this place was affecting him, or if he was just worried he might wake the statues up. When I had that thought I started worrying about waking the statues up as well. "I'd reckon that if this is their god though, they're pretty god-fearing folk around here."
"Yes," whispered Jimmy, and I started worrying about that point that he might just up and faint. "But if this is here, what did they lock up and then wall up?"
"Now there's a question I wish you'd never asked," said Ben, and I couldn't have agreed more.
Greg - hah, well you can't say I wasn't thinking of your shrine when I chose the prompt, because I definitely was.
Okay, so there was uneasiness about the bricked up, locked up doorway. These statues though? Straight to 'Nope, get me out of here right now' levels of concern.
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