Sometimes my memories feel like dreams, and I wonder what really happened. What did I really see? I take photos in hopes I might be able to make sense of it all later. I look back at my photos to be sure that it wasn’t really just a figment of my imaginary world.
Sometimes when I see the photos I become convinced that it actually was a dream, that somehow I have attained photographic evidence that the world is not always what it seems. Sometimes the photo is more of a dream than my foggy imaginary memories. Sometimes the photo feels like proof that this life actually is a dream, which leads me inevitably to the question, can we live our dreams?
The land, willed to my father, had been in our family for generations. Everybody considered it useless and unbuildable. His dream became constructing something wonderful on the eroding bluff, somehow overcoming the treacherous pull of gravity. Every portion completed required constant reinforcement afterward. Even as the lowest levels crumbled away, more rooms and terraces were added on top. He was certain that one day a magnificent castle would stand atop this land.
When the land was willed to me, his dream became mine. Someday there will be a castle here.
I just hope I live long enough to witness it.
This week’s entry for the Friday Fictioneers, a 100 word story based on the photo prompt above.