The Decline and Fall of Castle George
by Karama Neal
I thought I’d been forgotten. For most of my life, I’d had regular visitors. So many people came to see me, visiting from all over the continent, all over the world. Many were so moved by their stay that they left in tears. That’s the effect I have on people. But recently, aside from the occasional fisherman or hypercurious tourist, I hadn’t had real company in years. It’s been just me and the birds and the fishes. Nothing like the old days.
Those days weren’t perfect but at least I wasn’t alone. Today, though, was different because, this morning, I had visitors! A group of people, local and from abroad, showed up to talk about my 600th anniversary celebration next year. They called themselves a “planning committee,” and I opened my gates wide to welcome them.
They spent the first few minutes talking about whether the event should be called a celebration or a commemoration. I didn’t care, as long as it’s not a memorial! That could wait until after my — as the people say — birthday. They quickly settled on commemoration. The two people who wanted “celebration” were voted down, since the others said there was nothing to celebrate. I could argue that.
They pointed at my Door of No Return but didn’t go down there. Instead of looking at the sea from the Door, they stayed up top, discussing where to put tables and how to position cameras. Some people said this would be the biggest event I ever hosted with the most people. They must not have known how many people I held in the old days.
I didn’t want this to be the last event, and I always like company, so I was hoping the committee would stay around for a while. Showing the sights usually helped people linger. Finally, I was able to guide them to the tower. My highest point has the best views of the sea.
I thought about the old days when tens of thousands of people each year set off for the sea through my Door. But today’s visitors paid more attention to my bulging walls and cracked floors. Time takes a toll. “That can be fixed!” I heard one say. No one had said that about me in a long time, so I forgave them for not admiring the views I provided.
They eventually left the tower and walked around my top floors, finally taking in the ocean, the beach, and the nearby city. Unfortunately, again, they didn’t really seem to appreciate the view. “The sea level is so high now,” one said. “The beach is nearly completely eroded,” said another. “A shame the water can no longer support the local fishing industry,” offered one of the two promoting “celebration.”
None of this was a surprise to me. I can see what’s going on. I’ve been around longer than all of them combined. It was just a downer for them to bring it up now. Still, I was glad to have the company.
The committee never made it to the lower floors. I didn’t blame them for not going down there; no one ever seemed to like the dungeons. Not in the old days and not now. They said that they would develop a plan for those areas on their next trip.
One local person, who had vetoed “celebration,” went on and on about “honoring stolen people” and “people spending months chained and stuffed in there with no sanitation” and “no light!” and “the terror of being shipped out to an unknown place and future.” I wondered if the others were as sick of it as I was. I used to hear that kind of thing all the time during my midlife, but it didn’t matter then and doesn’t matter now. Everyone involved has been dead for a very long time.
On a more practical note, my bottom floor is in bad shape. It floods regularly now. I can’t keep dry. And given the rise of the water and change in the seafloor, I’m just not as stable as I used to be. Honestly, it’s a little scary. It’ll be hard, but I’m pretty sure I can hold myself together for at least a year. I hope so, anyway.
We’ll have this commemoration, and then, if the people don’t come back after that, I’ll decide how much longer I want to try to stick around. After the party, I could just let the waves take me down, and then the celebration would have been a send-off! Not a bad way to go out. It’s certainly better than another hundred years in solitary.
A week after the planning committee left, my women’s dungeon flooded again. I figured the water would drain after a few days, as usual; it wasn’t technically the rainy season. But then, two days later, there was a stronger storm with lots of runoff from the city, and the water levels on my bottom floor dungeons were higher than they’d ever been. They stayed high.
Honestly, I got nervous, especially when I felt two of my foundation stones shift. That had never happened before. The last big renovations were almost a hundred years ago and did not prepare me at all for this much water. After the third hard rain a few days later, another of my foundation stones shifted and I felt the collapse starting.
My disintegration followed fast, and there was nothing I could do. It was just too much water, too much weight. I was really hoping to hold on until my birthday, but my stones kept falling and crashing and settling into the sea, disturbing the fishes until there was quiet, and my tower and dungeons and Door were rubble in the sand. Somehow, the sea doesn’t seem as pleasant anymore.
Copyright © 2024 by Karama Neal
