By Nicholas Metzger
Behind the wall of glass, he stares back with a gaze that I suppose is imposing what with him being rather tall for his age but today would find himself quite short. I imagine what stories he could tell were he not trapped behind that glass a tale for each battle, for each mark a story of a roaring battlefield of old the various sounds of metal and men the shouts of orders and cries of pain the clanging of swords meeting with harsh metallic shrieks. I can only imagine what stories he could tell of chivalrous fellow knights and of ambitious kings a tale for each noble and champion met a story of great feasts held in many castles’ great halls the roaring and crackling of the fire in the hearth the smell of roasting meat, the fragrant perfume of sweet strong wine the echoing of laughing, and of stories told, and of bold speeches preached. I can imagine the stories he could tell though that time has long since come to pass. All that remains is the grave and rusted glaring armor all trapped behind this wall of glass.
Nicholas Metzger is from York, in south-central Pennsylvania. He is currently majoring in accounting and management, and his main interests are camping, nature, and reading. He has mostly done writing for school projects since his dyslexia often gets in the way. Lately, he has been writing poems and short stories more regularly. Howling Wind, Water in the Glen