-The Red-Tailed Heart

[Words to Image. A random image tugs at my attention and my imagination quickly latches onto the story it screams. I write and share. Enjoy]

Carsin stood between the two wrought iron posts, blocking all access. It was the only means by which one could enter the most forbidden place in The Heart of the city, a guarded sanctuary, unpassable to every traveler that ventured close enough. His sole task was to deter their attempts. They were allowed to view from a distance, even stay all day if they liked, but every approach was met with a swift casting open of the gate and a darkness that always prompted a rethink. No one was ever allowed past the gate. The Heart was not a place for casual tomfoolery. Unlimited entries would surely result in its desecration.

The gate swung open and Carsin prepared to execute his usual deterrent. He postured himself in his go-to manner, lowered his head slightly, and raised his stare, just a bit. Expressionless and cold, he stepped into his usual spiel.

"I'm sorry, but this area is off limits. I'm afraid you will have to step back and be on your way."

The petitioner stepped forward causing Carsin to readjust his stance. He repositioned in a manner for opposition. The petitioner was alarmed by his sudden movement but felt no real threat.

"I'm, I'm not wanting to frighten you or put you in an uncomfortable position, or anything ... I was just admiring your attire."

He glanced down at her long scarlet colored gown that were mere inches from reaching the earth. He looked back at her.

"Flattery will not gain you access," he returned.

"Oh, no, heavens, no ... that's not my intent, here. I was just ..."

She stepped forward again, but this time Carsin remained steadfast in his position. She raised glasses to her eyes and peered at his lapel. A silent glance upward to connect eyes gave her the confidence to reach out and touch it. Carsin's eyes remained alert but not denying. She pinched it between her thumb and index finger before rolling over to view its underside.

"Contrasting thread," she remarked. Once again, her stare returned to match his. "I know you."

Carsin questioned her words but never showed it. He had experienced many attempts to gain access into the forbidden area and refused to be swayed by mere speech. The sanctity of The Heart must be protected. She ran her fingertip down the thread while reciting what was obviously a personal memory.

"A ... stitch ... of ... black ... won't ... bring ... you ... back ... but ... a colored thread ... will turn ... her head. And when ... she fancies ... your presence near ... you'll thank the one ..."

"Who tailored your cheer."

Carsin finished her rhyme and eased his stance. He stared at her, still expressionless, but said nothing. He had heard these words before.

"I know you," she repeated. "I've known you for a very long time. I feel it."

She released his lapel.

"But ... where?"

Carsin released his hold on the cold damp iron and stepped away from the doorway. She now had access to enter, if she so desired. She realized what he had just offered.

"Why am I granted access when I see you turn everyone else away?"

He motioned for her to enter, which she did. She spun around and questioned him, once more.

"How do I know you and why have you relinquished your post?"

He moved forward and placed himself between the posts before answering.

"When I was a child, this place was my sanctuary. You and I lived here, together. I would gaze out the window at the other children playing in the streets ... always wanting to join ... but you never allowed. I called out to them, once ... hoping to get their attention. Hoping they might come to the door and ask if I could join them. On that day ... you stitched my mouth shut so I could never call out again. For years, you kept me in this silent prison so the world could never know me. I never truly knew myself. You refused to share me. And then one day, I cut through the thread and vowed, out loud, that I would no longer be your prisoner. You died, that day ... but your soul somehow escaped these wrought iron walls, only to return again, in another form, always another form. For a thousand years I have kept everyone out of this prison, waiting for the next time you returned to allow your re-entry. You have always returned but never knew why ... until you were on that side of these walls. You have stood where you now stand over three hundred times and have heard this reoccuring sentence spoken to you. You will remain in this prison and experience my hell, the hell you gave to me, until the day your soul actually dies and I am finally free.

The petitioner held her words as Carsin pulled the gate closed. The sound of the rusty metal screamed and echoed through the valley.

There has been a local folklore handed down from generation to generation for the past thousand years, that when you heard the screeching of the Red-tailed hawk, it was actually Mother Heart fighting the shackles. The town's custom was to silently pray for her end and Carsin's freedom, representative of maintaining their own.

[This story was indeed a spontaneous writing and expression of a creative imagination. Receive it as entertaining. I do enjoy these. If you did, as well, please Like, Comment, Share, and consider following my works.]