“It can all change in the blink of an eye.” Marianne sighed, waving around the quaint little village square at the new shops. Global brand names, like Kettle & Crock, or La Belle Epoque, carrying Chinese-made goods, had begun to elbow out the colorful little local merchants and their local crafts, giving the landlord more than they’d asked for in rents.
“That’s progress, Marianne. Everything changes, in time.” Alex had an eye on one of the lots overlooking the sea, and grand designs of his own to build a boutique hotel with breathtaking views on all sides. Marianne had her misgivings; the new hotel would block a lovely view of the cliffs from the ancient cottages across the street. Surely the community would not be so welcoming as the overseas landowners and their agents.
“I suppose so,” she answered, trying ineffectually to hide her doubts.
A woman, made of wind-weathered marble and brass, stood in the center of the square, silently willing Marianne to speak, for she could not. Her name, forgotten a thousand years ago, was Rhodos. She knew well how quickly things could change; she had seen nations come and go. As long as she had the sun on her face and the stars to gaze upon at night, she was content to serve as a sort of sundial for the little town. But the buildings men spoke of where they thought she could not hear them would tower over her like Colossus, blotting out the light, robbing her of the stars, making of themselves the only thing her eyes could drink in. She would not have it. She would will herself to crumble and fall away to dust and rust, as only stone and brass could do.
The one thing she could not do, the one thing she longed to do, was to effect change of her own. She had tried that, once; now, her lips were sealed. Her tongue, immobile. Oh, yes! It could all change in the blink of an eye. But Rhodos, Poseidon’s daughter, frozen in marble and brass, was cursed with an inability to blink.
This story is brought to you by Fiction Monday Ninetieth Edition ~ Reflections ~ Vinitha Dileep and the word, “blink.”