Ossa Temporis by Peter Eger
I knew it solely as the Great Bath, a thing built by giants, a people much larger than us in both mind and stature. My throat dried at the sight of its greatness, each breath scraping against my lungs.
I looked up at the marble structure before me. The paints, having baked in the sun for centuries, flaked and cracked—but still held traces of reds, blues, and yellows; ancient skin, sagging and tired, yet refusing to bow to time. Cracks snaked along the columns and stairs, while entire chunks of the roof had collapsed from before the time of my great-grandparents.
Running water trickled somewhere inside. Perhaps whatever was left behind by the giants still had some use. I made my way up the marble steps, scuffed from hundreds, if not over a thousand years of use. The statues flanking the entrance pointed towards the heavens with absent fingers or arms. Only their sculptors, now long dead, could answer to what they gestured towards. A plague of wild grasses had crept in innumerable centuries earlier, splitting the marble stone.
The weight on my shoulder mewed softly, prompting me to scratch behind her ear to placate her need for attention.
“Relax, Jasper. We can stop here to rest,” I said, the tabby nuzzling my neck in response as it clung to balance on my shoulder. The only companion from my village to survive.
The Great Bath certainly lived up to its name, being much more expansive than I ever dreamt. The central dome loomed above like a judging eye, the crumbled circular structure opening to the sky like a dilated pupil. Sagging and warped columns struggled to hold up the arched roof ribs, like a squire struggling to heft their lord’s sword into their master’s awaiting gauntlet. As if a lone pagan god remained loyal to this ancient architectural skeleton—desperate to breathe life into the rotting skeleton—running water spilled from the shattered eye down into a large pool encircled by statues. The faintly beating heart.
Jasper hopped off of my shoulder onto the floor in complete silence, excitedly pattering her way over to take a drink. I made my way over as well, taking a seat at the edge of the pool and slipping off my leather shoes. Running a hand through the water, I found it was crisp, clear, and warmed by the sun.
Jasper suddenly flopped down on the lip of the pool, her tail flicking in content as she slowly shut her eyes. The light, filtering in from the arched windows high above the entrance, made her orange fur glisten. Her fur was soft to the touch, as always, now imbued with the warmth of the sun. She didn’t stir, only flicking her tail more. I cracked a smile.
“Fine. We’ll stay here for a little longer.”
A corpse, eroded by time and diseased by nature, hosted life once more.
Peter Ian Eger was born and raised in Cape Coral, Florida. By some stroke of misfortune, he hates the sun, so he’s cooped up inside most of the day, studying the Crusades, Latin, and writing. He has contributed a short story, The World Above, to his college’s literary magazine.
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