A short story by Conor

            This is a fictitious diary entry from the point of view of a monk at the castle Queribus, in France. The castle is at the top of a mountain, and was the refuge of a dissident group of the Catholic Church. I was amazed at the position of the castle, and I also enjoyed the view over the Lot Valley.



Queribus Castle 2010



December 8^th, 1342

The harsh wind woke me up this morning, along with the steeple bell, just as dawn was beginning to break. I would have frozen to death had it not been for the fire smoldering in the corner, which licked at the wall as I went to sleep last night. I got off my small hard bed, and walked to the well, full of water from yesterday’s rain. I made my way into the dining hall, and sat down on the long bench. There were bowls of steaming hearty soup on the table, next to tough bread.  Other monks filed in behind me, and sat down on the bench. We ate in silence, as Brother Martin read us passages from the Holy Book. I enjoyed every warming drop of that soup, and prepared myself to make the trek down the mountain, into the town below. We were out of vegetables, and we couldn’t grow them in our monastery because of the harsh weather most of the year. Once I finished, I got my cloak, and left the castle.

The wind rustled the trees and bushes, and it sounded like whispers. The sun was up, although it wasn’t warming me at all. I wrapped my cloak around tighter, and enjoyed the brief feeling of warmth that brought. At the bottom of the hill, I looked at the distance I had just descended, and realized I needed to go back up, burdened by my purchases. On the way to the market, I walked along the cobblestone street and glanced at all the small houses with hay roofs. Their doors were shut tight to ward away the biting chill that had a way of sneaking through cracks. I arrived at the center square just in time, it was sheltered from the wind by the towering church. The market was open, although the only stands were shivering in the corner. I walked over, and looked over the measly leftovers of the harvest. I picked out all the vegetables that weren’t noticeably infested with bugs, which amounted to just enough. I walked back up the mountain, and brought the vegetables into the kitchen. I sat down to work on copying scripts, and they day melted fast, as it usually does when I become enchanted in my work. Dinner was more soup, which I enjoyed, tasting the vegetables that were the result of my labors. I fell asleep next to the fire, absorbing its caring warmth.