A BEAUTIFUL DISASTER
A BEAUTIFUL DISASTER
Cathlene Tomas
It is old, dull, like a piece of bread that dries up your mouth. A vintage palace, standing along the smoky, dark, foggy road leading to nowhere. It is ancient, as old as great grandma and grandpa; weak like them, with their wrinkly skin. It is a mansion, with windows made up of fine, glossy fiberglass, embedded in a wooden frame, smudged with molds and stains from raindrops. The mansion is a soldier. It saw the war. It was there, and it is still here, remembering the dead bodies of poets who wrote letters to their families. This mansion is alive, but empty, and that’s what makes it full…
As you walk all the way up the boulevard, all the way to where the mansion is, a dark mahogany door made up of one of the strongest species of a tree will welcome you. The doorknob is made out of gold, shining as the sun rises from the East, striking it so beautifully that you can’t see it with your naked eye. Beside this is a tall, white-skinned tree that has protected the mansion from harm and persecution, proudly displaying the marks and wounds that scar it. Walking inside is a long process. As long as you hear the creaking noise of the door opening, you’ll need to cover your ears because of the cringeworthy feeling it gives you. The screeching, rusty noise from the door is calling you, as if screaming your name, welcoming you to see how beautiful the place was before it was abandoned, what a paradise it was, and how wonderful it turns out to be now. The mansion, as it stands mightily, can never be compared to the Twin Towers and other skyscrapers. Its beauty is history. It is a beautiful disaster. A spark after a fire, a candle in the middle of darkness, a rainbow after a disastrous storm.
After you drag yourself inside, you will see a bar stool on the right hand corner of the room. Wine glasses and a few bottles of Jack Daniels lie shattered and scattered on the floor. The espresso maker that made black coffee to lighten up your day is now covered with cobwebs and crawling with spiders. There is nothing more appealing than the plates that are organized despite the mess inside this mansion. Plates that record the time a family spent dining together. This mansion, despite the abandonment, never let a broken family happen. On the left side of the room is a couch, as dusty as the ashes from a wood blown by the wind. It has become wrinkly, saggy, and dead. The foam is gone, decomposed by the worms that wiggle from inside and out of the couch. But you’ve never seen a couch, like the chandelier that once lit up the whole mansion, that was this vintage. Old but a legend. Antique but valuable.
As you walk up the dusty stairs, a red carpet welcomes your presence as the floor creaks beneath it. It makes you want to step back down the stairs, thinking it might be dangerous for you to be trapped here, lured by its magnificence, but the beauty of this palace keeps you away from your thoughts; these stairs won’t scare you because walking up them will make you feel like a prince or princess. Walking upstairs, you will pass by a smudgy window, slightly open through which the breeze from the outside world blows, invited inside this kingdom of kings and queens. All are welcome, all is free, yet the breathtaking and awe-inspiring beauty of this paradise is unappreciated. It is crying, because no matter how beautiful the mansion is, it is still abandoned.
You can also see paintings that are hanging on the crooked, dirty white wall, colored in plain black and white paint. Simple but deep. Dull but true. Immobile but alive. Eyes that watch you from the painting are watching you like the eyes of God judging you. Eyes that just don’t stare, but remind you to confess, kneel, and pray. As you slowly walk down the dim hallway, the floor is creaking, and every step forms a footprint of dust. Every stomp creates a smoky effect. Birds fly away as they hear echoes around the house. These sounds make you realize how empty the house is. It is empty, old, and antique, and that’s what makes it full. Old things collect wisdom from experience. A mansion full of memories is a mansion that remembers.
The mansion is a history. It is a legend that can never grow old. From the scar on the tree guarding it to the scars of the broken mirror, it remembers everything. As you saunter down the stairs, reminiscing on every part of the house, be honored you had the chance to take a look inside a paradise, and as you walk outside this mansion, don’t forget to leave the door five inches open. Let others see this beautiful disaster.