by J. Brown

Created on: November 21, 2009

The Castle on the Hill

Somewhere deep in the barricades of a castle sitting on the tallest plateau overlooking a city of clones, a man who was very finely dressed paced up and down the foreign looking carpet. Time, after all, can be just as distant as geography. This man was troubled, but the tempest was nearly over. He'd answered question after question inside his head time and time again and now only the winds of the future stirred the waves of his mind. Now, his greatest worry was suicide, or so he'd decided. Not his own, but the woman he had chosen to love. It may have been wrong, but it was all in her frozen hands now. The man sighed, sick with throwing unnecessary questions back into the depth of his subconscious. He stood still. His head lifted slowly. Then he looked over his shoulder to his left where the cryogenic chamber stood majestic like a twisted throne. Maybe the dim castle gave it that look.

The woman inside had been frozen as a girl. But her body still lived and aged, though it did so slowly. She had mahogany brown curls that grew down almost to her waist. She was thin, but would look healthier after eating solid food. She still wore those old pajamas. He still thought they were ridiculous, but he wouldn't change them for the world. He walked towards the frozen beauty, hand outstretched. His purposeful strides slowed as he got closer. He wished she would speak to him. He hadn't heard her speak for what seemed to be longer than it was.

As he gently neared the super protective glass, he touched two lengthened fingers to it. First lightly, then tenderly. He stared wistfully with the future and the past pushing insistently on the moment like children nagging an indifferent mother.

And then an angry, nasal beeping interrupted all of them. He quickly removed his hand and looked down at his watch. It was 6:30 already. He sighed and looked at her and smiled. Even frozen in time, she still made him feel peaceful. Then he turned and stalked speedily to the door and the more urgent reality.

Despite the buzzing vibrations cascading towards the chamber and the warmth of John's touch, the woman still slept. And while she slept, she dreamed. Her subconscious focused on the past mostly, as it often did. And thus, she was truly frozen in time.

John Olsen walked quickly. He always had. It was true that his legs were abnormally long and leanly muscular, but the force behind his long, quick stride was his purpose. He always had a purpose. The current

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