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THE CLEAR BOTTLE
The room of young Anthony Winsor was a cold, fragranced, ancient place within an old house atop a hill.
Ancient indeed was the house, but not Anthony himself.
He was a young child who waited constantly and frantically for his mother and father. He lived in ancient England, waiting since he was about five years old. And now, he was about twenty-eight years old, or at least he thinks so, since he could never count how many days had passed, but it must have been a large amount.
Anthony himself was a very slim boy, with curly, blonde hair, and blue eyes. His voice was soothing, but he hadn't talked for ages, for why would he talk when there was no one to talk to? Since he was alone, not at all would he dare to go outside; would shiver whenever the door opened for him to be free. Instead, he read books; when he was six years old, alone sadly, he read the essays of Mary Wolfstonecraft Shelley, and he read Edgar Allan Poe's 'the Murders at the Rue Morgue'.
His fancy was in the old, and the fantastic.
It was one day, in which the rain patterned dismally against the panes of his window, and the moon could be seen, waxing gibbous and demoniac. Young Anthony had heard a strange noise, and looked out the keyhole to see what was there. Indeed was there a strange side table in those halls, in which all he saw was a bottle on it, clear and with a modest amount of water inside.
This was indeed the first time Anthony walked outside, and it was to take the glass bottle.
When he saw it, he noticed how peculiarly light it was, and how small it was. Extremely small; exactly an inch, was the bottle. On it was a label, which only put in some strange jumble of letters to Anthony,
"P O T I O N"
He was tempted to drink it, and so gave into the temptation. Now he craved more, and saw how there was a river just along the field, and needed to sneak out the house, just to refill the bottle.
He did not dare to go out of his room, so he instead walked out from his window, and slid through from the roof. Now he saw the terrible, fragranced land of field and flower that he could not at all see before, with fantastic beauty and covered in green grass; green, for it must have been summer.When he walked towards the river, he put the bottle in the water, and stared into the reflection.
He was indeed a monster to his family.
Conclusion
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Ancient indeed was the house, but not Anthony himself.
He was a young child who waited constantly and frantically for his mother and father. He lived in ancient England, waiting since he was about five years old. And now, he was about twenty-eight years old, or at least he thinks so, since he could never count how many days had passed, but it must have been a large amount.
Anthony himself was a very slim boy, with curly, blonde hair, and blue eyes. His voice was soothing, but he hadn't talked for ages, for why would he talk when there was no one to talk to? Since he was alone, not at all would he dare to go outside; would shiver whenever the door opened for him to be free. Instead, he read books; when he was six years old, alone sadly, he read the essays of Mary Wolfstonecraft Shelley, and he read Edgar Allan Poe's 'the Murders at the Rue Morgue'.
His fancy was in the old, and the fantastic.
It was one day, in which the rain patterned dismally against the panes of his window, and the moon could be seen, waxing gibbous and demoniac. Young Anthony had heard a strange noise, and looked out the keyhole to see what was there. Indeed was there a strange side table in those halls, in which all he saw was a bottle on it, clear and with a modest amount of water inside.
This was indeed the first time Anthony walked outside, and it was to take the glass bottle.
When he saw it, he noticed how peculiarly light it was, and how small it was. Extremely small; exactly an inch, was the bottle. On it was a label, which only put in some strange jumble of letters to Anthony,
"P O T I O N"
He was tempted to drink it, and so gave into the temptation. Now he craved more, and saw how there was a river just along the field, and needed to sneak out the house, just to refill the bottle.
He did not dare to go out of his room, so he instead walked out from his window, and slid through from the roof. Now he saw the terrible, fragranced land of field and flower that he could not at all see before, with fantastic beauty and covered in green grass; green, for it must have been summer.When he walked towards the river, he put the bottle in the water, and stared into the reflection.
He was indeed a monster to his family.
Conclusion
© All Rights Reserved
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