The Queen of Nothing

The merry-go-round is entangled by vines, the roots have weaved their way into the heart of the machine. Once well oiled gears are now rusted and broken, their teeth still biting but their will to bite broken. There is no electricity to motivate them, there is no electricity anywhere. Time waited in this place, it waited impassionately for nothing and no one in particular. The world is spinning but the merry-go-round is not. The paint on the horses is long since faded as they take their long journey of decay. The vines embrace the wooden beasts, gripping too hard except for one horse. He is called Halcyon and there was a time when he was the fastest horse in the pack. He was beloved. Now he stands alone, champion of a forgotten era. He is cracked and broken but he alone remained untainted by the encroaching foliage. She caresses his mane.

The pond is drowned, its waters swallowed by generations. The spigots of the the fountain are choked by grime, no liquid will quench the stone basin. The pump does not pump, the pipes are split. Silver and copper coins lie dormant in the pool, their etched faces forgotten. Birds once swam in the cool water, satiated by the novelty of excess. There are no birds here, there is no indication of motion. She hangs her bare feet over the edge.

The building stands as it ever did while others are crumbled to dust. The window is no more, splinters and beads have spread along the walkway beneath its frame. The pale fragments reinforce the fragility of creation. The door is hanging by one hinge too tired to stand but not yet granted a leave of duty. A door is a door. A heavy coat of dust blankets the the floor and shelves within. The wares remain on the racks though some have fallen to the ground and others have been eaten away. A cash register sits at the counter, its drawers long since emptied. And what would the money buy anyway? In the corner of the small back office sits a worn out little bed which once belonged to a cat who liked to sniff hands. The desk is overturned barring entry into the little room and the contents of its drawers spilled about. The window to the room is grey with soot but for a single clean smudge, a spot where a hand had hastily wiped it clean. She lies curled on her side at the cat’s bed cuddling nothing.

The air is still in this place as if even the weather has forgotten of its existence. The surrounding trees stand perfectly still and there are no sounds of life. Even during the day, the sun doesn’t shine here. Everything is drab and grey. It is a place forgotten by the world, forgotten by time, forgotten by everything. But she remembers. She alone stands watch over the emptiness. She rules over the abandoned. The queen of nothing.

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 The Queen of Nothing was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Maribel Navarro.