By Raquel Martinez
The sea rushed in and out with deep slow breaths, pounding against the white rock like a hammer on an anvil. Its sound was as constant as life itself, never ceasing or faltering, simply ever present. The sea would always be there and always had been, and seemingly, so was the city that sprang up from the sea foam to the sky above. Hewn from the ivory cliff, streets, stairwells and buildings, patched here and there by wood were weathered and worn by the thousands of generations that had trampled its stones and lived within its walls. Protected from the rough waves by a crescent bay, a thriving harbor nestled trading ships and fishing vessels in its arms. The top of the cliff was dominated by a semicircular donjon with turrets and spires that rose up to meet the clouds. No one knew who built the City of the Cliff. But everyone knew its name to be Zenith. I cannot deny the beauty of the city. At every sunrise and sunset the white stone reflects the light of the sky in a deep glow, the small buildings built jutting out of the cliff, and streets sunken in like crevices. But it is my prison. I am trapped by stone, sky and sea, with nowhere to go.
A publication created by Calvert High School students for the Calvert School community.