The Glass Castle

I have seen a glass castle, next to a hill, on the edge of a precipice. I know you have seen it, too. If you stand still, it’s a sight that you can’t miss. When the sun is still shining, and the light is poured in, light abounds still more, but when the dark is abounding, darkness does, too, and permeate all of its floors. And this, dear listener – for readers read books, but listeners hear stories - this is a story of the dark, and the darkness, and darker things still. Don’t let that scare you away, if there are things that can scare people these days, because darkness is not darkness without the light at the end of the tunnel. But enough of me and what I have seen.

There stood a glass castle, next to a hill, on the edge of a precipice, as old and as cold as the mountains it was carved from. No human hand laid its foundations, nor shaped its walls with edges keen as a blade, buffeted by rough winter winds. When the sun shined, which it had not in quite some time, it gleamed like a glacier melting with the brilliance of a star and to look upon it was nigh impossible. But when the sun hid behind impenetrable clouds, as it did now, it was a dark, roiling mass of shadows cast in sickening angles and huddled in ever-receding corners. Most days, if they can truly be considered days, were neither especially bright nor terribly dark, but gray, an unflinching unbreaking, palpable gray. Ages of loveless light and deathless night cycled through that castle, impervious to age and decay, ages of impermeable shadows chasing grey mist through endless halls. Perhaps you have been laboring under the false impression that nothing lives here, dear listener, but that would be wrong. If you have not, good for you – assumptions are always dangerous. It would be wrong to assume that monsters lived in this castle, for evil things thrive just as easily in broad daylight as they do in darkness.

The glass castle was not without a monarch. For most of its long and storied history, it had fallen under the rule of two brothers, one, Amar, cold and hard as flint, with stony gray eyes and a heart of granite. The other, Ira, loud and boisterous, had fire in his veins and a volcano in his heart. Of all the men to hold court in this castle, theirs had been the longest and most stable session. You must understand, dear listener, that the wilderness is a savage place. Darkness must be fought with a coldness to match its own and a fire to light the way, even if it is a bonfire instead of a torch. Once, a man managed to coax the sun, and for a brief spell light and warmth made the castle a beacon for all. We won’t dwell on him, for he was a diminutive fellow, and weak willed. He was no match for the enemy. Now, dear listener, you may remember that I challenged any assumption that monsters lurked within the castle. This is still true. But monsters lurk everywhere on the outside, and every monster fears the monster I am about to mention.

Have you seen the man hooded, out from forests wooded? Have you seen the man with no face? Huddled and contorted, limbs distorted, wreathed in smoke – he is death, the death of all passion. He is not welcome here, though he knocks often. Where that one man fell, one with a stubborn heart and another with an unbreakable will bared the gates. Passion and resistance in any form are preferable to letting him in, even if they make for harsh masters. And this is a fairly accurate portrait of the present. The glass castle stands uncorrupted and strong, still gray in patchy sunlight. Amar of the cold eyes and stubborn heart was beginning to lose his vision. Ira, hot headed, was cooling into something altogether weak, like the light of a feeble flame. They were not immune to time as the castle was, and the stranger, death, had not made his presence known for quite some time. They had begun to sense that a new age was underway, for though they had ruled long and effectively, never had they felt that they were meant to rule indefinitely, nor that they were the rightful rulers of the place. They had even come to titling themselves as regents, placeholders for another, fitter monarch.

One day, the sun was shining, and it was strange but wonderful. The clouds were bursting with significance and it seemed as though there was meaning in every breeze. On the parapet overlooking the woods at the edge of the forest, Amar stood with Ira, both peered expectantly into the treetops. A rustling in the undergrowth disrupted an otherwise unbroken sea of green and red and yellow boughs. Amar turned to Ira. “Well, brother. I suppose this is the day.” He nodded, for both were expecting to see death, knowing themselves too weak to stop him. They clasped hands and waited to die.

It was a girl. They looked at each other, then back at the radiant beam which had just emerged from the forest. She was life itself, warm as a blazing fire and just as dangerous, but as safe as home. And they knew that death indeed had arrived, not that of the faceless man, but their own. They rushed to the gates and held them open as sentries welcoming the coming of day. They ushered her in and held her coronation there. It was time for a queen, anyways, and how could they deny the one the sun came out for? Before she laid them to rest, having served their purpose, she looked them both in the eyes and said gravely, “I met a man with no face, and he ran from me. I can’t imagine why. I’m not a monster, am I?”

“No, child," Amarus responded. "You are Amare, and I am Amarus, and this is Ira. You were meant to rule. I need not tell you to rule wisely, for this castle was meant for you and you cannot fail.”

She laughed, then drew the lines of her face into a very solemn but kind expression. “You were not meant to rule, but you have served this castle well. Rest, now, for this castle will never again require your services, so long as I rule. Rest, good servants.” And they did.

She reigned with the sun and chased the gray away, and never was the faceless man seen again, and Amar and Ira rested peacefully, and yes, dear listener, all was well. Does that offend you? I pity you, if so, but fear not for there is light.

I live in a glass castle, next to a hill, on the edge of a precipice. When the sun is shining, light is poured through, and the light abounds still more. When the dark is abounding, darkness will, too, and permeate all of its floors. You live in one, too. If you stand still, it’s a sight you can’t miss. Whether you are in the light or in the dark, dear listener, all that you are comes down to two questions: Who is on your throne? And who did you let in?