Birds are free; free to fly, sing and flee through the air, feeling the ripple of the wind rushing through their feathers. Well most birds are free. Some are trapped in cages, never to see the light or feel this freedom. That’s me; instead of a cage I have a tower. These four walls have been suffocating me, blinding me with the darkness, encasing me in loneliness for fifteen years. Fairytale endings don’t happen for me; no handsome prince comes to whisk me off into the sunset on a white stallion. No, that’s impossible for me. One step out the door, my body slowly begins to die; my only safety is my room. Oh the irony, my only safety is my living hell.
Fifteen years I have spent angling a pocket mirror hoping to catch a glimpse of the outside world. My only distraction from the boredom is sewing; big tapestries surround the walls, filled with my hopes and dreams built up with tiny needle pricks and vibrant threads. I also sew images of the glances at the outside world just small things; leaves rustling in the breeze, a river flowing down through the valley and the seasons changing from summer to winter. Life for me isn’t horrible, I get enough food and water and they even give me thread when I need it, yet I am tortured inside. My skin has forgotten the feeling of the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. My legs have forgotten what it feels like to run or dance. I have forgotten what outside is, and outside has forgotten me. Not that anyone would miss me anyway; my mother’s legacy I am afraid. The foolishness of my father in protecting her from those knights of Camelot on their godforsaken witch hunt. So they cursed me, with what I do not know, saying they were fighting magic with magic so I would never be able to hurt the people of Camelot how hypocritical of them. The worst bit, I am no witch and neither was she.
Now, I sit sewing back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth. The river flows in the background along with the birds and faint trample of horse’s hooves from the blacksmiths who lives in the town. Softly I sing to myself, a song I wrote to myself never intended for anyone to hear. Interrupted by the growing tread of hooves approaching closer to my tower, I turn my mirror trying to distinguish where the sound was coming from. At first I see nothing abnormal, the bridge crossing the river and the vibrant green of a forest I can never visit, until a silver glimmer glistens across the mirror in a flash. Armour of a knight I believe, although I have never seen any with my own eyes only an illustration inked into the page of a storybook. Focussing upon this image I see the copper of his hair rippling in the breeze and the blood red of a cloak covering the silver of his chainmail. Moving further towards the window I see he pauses by the river drinking from the water before turning and looking up at the tower. Forgetting all my troubles, I turn towards the river looking straight out the window at this knight in shining armour. He is as all fairytales portray: Handsome and brave, leaping onto his horse before looking me in the eye and riding off into the distance. Desperation fills me as I run towards the door pulling off the chains I attached to resist the temptation of freedom. Throwing the door open wide I breathe in the fresh air as I feel the grass under my feet and wind in my hair, and it is heaven.
Running after the knight I get towards the river which I can now see leads to a lake shadowed in the distance by the mighty city of Camelot, a long lost memory in my mind. By the lake is a boat engraved with the Lady of Shalott, my family name shared by three generations of women: my grandmother Ellyn, my mother Mary and me, Elaine. Climbing onto the boat, I run my fingers through the water feeling the cool reeds and watching the fish swimming by before starting to row the boat across the lake. Night falls on my travels and I first notice the candles lit by my side when suddenly one flickers out and smoke puffs into the air. The air is filled with frost, the only heat coming from the remaining two candles. Ice crackles across the surface of the lake as the temperature falls. As the boat struggles to move through the now frozen water, I lie down wrapping myself in a tapestry I found strewn across the boats side.
Slowly drifting into sleep I dream of knights in shining armour, grand gothic castles and the feeling of the freedom I loved. However I don’t notice that only one candle remains lit and is flickering slowly out. Soon I find I can’t move and feel so tired, closing my eyes I feel the frost inching across me covering me and enclosing me in a blanket of ice. As I sleep the last candle goes out plunging me into a world of darkness choking me until I fall unconscious. When I wake the boat has drifted ashore, still I can’t move but I see the outline of a shape leaning over me and lifting me, it speaks yet I can’t reply. It weeps and I cannot soothe and again I feel so alone. I am frozen in time, trapped in my own body still unable to seek the freedom I had so close.
Only now do I fully understand my curse; I always thought it was that I was to be forever trapped in a tower but only now do I realise it doesn’t matter where I am. I will always be alone and unable to experience happiness or love.
This is based on the picture and poem called the Lady of Shalott
