Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Dance! -NaNo2010
At first, the crowd only watched. Then one little girl began to bounce and clap her hands. Keary played his fiddle straight to her and she giggled in delight. When he moved back, she grabbed the hands of two other girls and the three spun in a wild circle. The dance spread from there until Keary had to dodge and weave in his own dancing to avoid hitting another of the spinning high-stepping stomping leaping dancers.
Monday, November 08, 2010
the missing Heir -NaNo2010
“Anwell! Keary! Bryce!” Drystan skidded to a stop in front of them and crouched down, “a message came from Na-Torral. We would have missed it but I was back here before any of you and thought to escape the city for a spell. As it was, I heard only the second repetition.”
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Story within a story from chapter 4 - NaNo2010
“Once near the beginning, there was a boy who couldn’t hear the music inherent. When his mother hummed or his father danced or his sister played counterpoint on her pipe, he only heard their half of the melody and rhythm. He couldn’t join in.
“He asked them how they heard the music, what it was like, but their explanations didn’t make sense. His sister said it was like the smell of the ground rain, rising up from below, and she just had to keep her feet bare to hear it well.
His father said it was like the feel of the breezes, sometimes soft and sometimes wild. He heard it best when he closed his eyes.
His mother said it was like breathing, something always happening whether you noticed it or not.
The boy tried his hardest to find the music. He would go out alone and dig his toes in the ground. He’d close his eyes and feel the wind. He would breathe deep and shallow, fast and slow. But the music never came.
And the longer he waited and hoped and searched, the more lost he felt. He knew he was meant to dance and sing. His family pounded drums and sang for him but he knew it was only an echo of what they themselves heard.
So he left.
He left his family and his home and everything except the clothes on his back and the hope in his heart.”
“He asked them how they heard the music, what it was like, but their explanations didn’t make sense. His sister said it was like the smell of the ground rain, rising up from below, and she just had to keep her feet bare to hear it well.
His father said it was like the feel of the breezes, sometimes soft and sometimes wild. He heard it best when he closed his eyes.
His mother said it was like breathing, something always happening whether you noticed it or not.
The boy tried his hardest to find the music. He would go out alone and dig his toes in the ground. He’d close his eyes and feel the wind. He would breathe deep and shallow, fast and slow. But the music never came.
And the longer he waited and hoped and searched, the more lost he felt. He knew he was meant to dance and sing. His family pounded drums and sang for him but he knew it was only an echo of what they themselves heard.
So he left.
He left his family and his home and everything except the clothes on his back and the hope in his heart.”
Monday, November 01, 2010
Hope - from chapter 1- NaNoWriMo 2010
Grey orangle light filters through the trees and eases the shadows by the time we break from the tree line up on the High Ridge.
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I Will Rise
-May song story from Chris Tomlin's "I Will Rise"-
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Just For Now
Caution: language
Snow fell in big soft flakes to disappear in the brown slush at the side of the road. Eva turned away from the quiet street into the quieter trees of the river valley. Over the past nine days, she had almost worn a path through the brush though it wouldn’t be visible tomorrow if the snow didn’t stop.
Surprised by a patch of ice, she fell over backwards with a jolt. “Shit!” Stars twinkled momentarily in her vision and her left hand burned where she had scraped it along a thorny branch trying to stop her fall. The wood-carved jewelry box remained cradled safely in the crook of her right arm.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
She pushed herself back to her feet but the cold wetness had already seeped through her jeans and underwear. She bit her tongue before another expletive could slip out.
I know you can’t hear me now but it still seems wrong to talk that way around you.
She hugged the small box closer to her side and pressed forward. Her left hand found a new steady tree branch to grasp before each step. The site lay only a little further into the brush, just far enough to be hidden from accidental discovery. A large blue spruce marked the spot. Eva knelt at its foot beside the shoulder deep hole she had spent more than a week digging. Snow dusted the dented kitchen spoon she had discarded after finally finishing yesterday afternoon.
Note to self: A shovel is a household necessity and can save your hands three layers of blisters.
The morning’s snow lined the bottom of the hole like a soft white blanket. Eva held the box in her lap for a little longer. She ran one hand over the nailed down lid. The hours she had spent sanding its edges in grade 8 had left it as soft and smooth as baby skin. She traced the writing on the lid slowly:
Gloria Christa Rose
December 11th
“I know three names is a lot, especially for someone as small as you but I couldn’t decide. I hope you don’t mind.”
She traced through the letters backwards. The dull ache in her chest spread through her belly and throbbed in her ears but no tears came.
Guess a person can only cry so much before they’re dried up.
“Sorry.”
Eva exhaled and lowered the box into the makeshift grave. Sitting back on her heels, she slipped her fingerless gloves off. She pulled a very wrinkled and spotted piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
“Now, I haven’t been to a funeral since I was three so I don’t really know the words to say.” She smoothed the paper out against her legs, “A minister’s the person supposed to do it but I wanted to keep this just the two of us. I hope that’s okay.”
Eva cleared her throat and coughed. “Sorry. There should probably be some scripture about heaven but I can’t remember any and I remembered this one verse so…” She cleared her throat again, “Um, but we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I’m not really sure what it means but it sounds poetic and the treasure part makes me think of you.
And now I think the minister would pray but I’m going to skip that part. You never had the chance to do any bad things so I’m sure you don’t need any special praying. There’ll be lots of angels looking after you.” Eva bit her lip, “I’m sorry I’m not there to hold you.”
She swallowed and looked down at her sheet but the words she had written last night didn’t seem right anymore. She set the paper aside. Taking a handful from the pile of dirt, she sprinkled it over the box. The dirt made a dull rapping sound against the wood. It hurt.
“Sorry.”
The hole seemed to take longer to fill than it had to dig while she worked but once she had finished, it felt far too short, only a wink of a moment to make the grave disappear like it had never been.
Eva wiped shaky hands against her already dirty jeans. “I hope you aren’t missing me. I wouldn’t have been a very good mom. I didn’t even realize how much I wanted you until after you were gone…
She fidgeted with her gloves, unsnagging pine needles.
“I hope it wasn’t something I did that made you come so early. I haven’t drunk or smoked anything since I found out about you.
I hope it didn’t hurt.”
Still no tears. She picked up her notes again. “The last thing is always a song. I know Amazing Grace is generally used but I can’t remember the verses very well and this one has your name in it. It’s one of my favourites too.”
She took a deep breath, “so anyway, here goes:
Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing o’er the plain
And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo”
The song slipped between tree branches and snowflakes upwards. It lifted with it some of the ache leaving behind something like peace… hope?
Eva let the hope settle inside. By the time she stood up to leave, it would slip away again but just for now she would hold to it.
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Snow fell in big soft flakes to disappear in the brown slush at the side of the road. Eva turned away from the quiet street into the quieter trees of the river valley. Over the past nine days, she had almost worn a path through the brush though it wouldn’t be visible tomorrow if the snow didn’t stop.
Surprised by a patch of ice, she fell over backwards with a jolt. “Shit!” Stars twinkled momentarily in her vision and her left hand burned where she had scraped it along a thorny branch trying to stop her fall. The wood-carved jewelry box remained cradled safely in the crook of her right arm.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
She pushed herself back to her feet but the cold wetness had already seeped through her jeans and underwear. She bit her tongue before another expletive could slip out.
I know you can’t hear me now but it still seems wrong to talk that way around you.
She hugged the small box closer to her side and pressed forward. Her left hand found a new steady tree branch to grasp before each step. The site lay only a little further into the brush, just far enough to be hidden from accidental discovery. A large blue spruce marked the spot. Eva knelt at its foot beside the shoulder deep hole she had spent more than a week digging. Snow dusted the dented kitchen spoon she had discarded after finally finishing yesterday afternoon.
Note to self: A shovel is a household necessity and can save your hands three layers of blisters.
The morning’s snow lined the bottom of the hole like a soft white blanket. Eva held the box in her lap for a little longer. She ran one hand over the nailed down lid. The hours she had spent sanding its edges in grade 8 had left it as soft and smooth as baby skin. She traced the writing on the lid slowly:
Gloria Christa Rose
December 11th
“I know three names is a lot, especially for someone as small as you but I couldn’t decide. I hope you don’t mind.”
She traced through the letters backwards. The dull ache in her chest spread through her belly and throbbed in her ears but no tears came.
Guess a person can only cry so much before they’re dried up.
“Sorry.”
Eva exhaled and lowered the box into the makeshift grave. Sitting back on her heels, she slipped her fingerless gloves off. She pulled a very wrinkled and spotted piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it.
“Now, I haven’t been to a funeral since I was three so I don’t really know the words to say.” She smoothed the paper out against her legs, “A minister’s the person supposed to do it but I wanted to keep this just the two of us. I hope that’s okay.”
Eva cleared her throat and coughed. “Sorry. There should probably be some scripture about heaven but I can’t remember any and I remembered this one verse so…” She cleared her throat again, “Um, but we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” She shrugged her shoulders, “I’m not really sure what it means but it sounds poetic and the treasure part makes me think of you.
And now I think the minister would pray but I’m going to skip that part. You never had the chance to do any bad things so I’m sure you don’t need any special praying. There’ll be lots of angels looking after you.” Eva bit her lip, “I’m sorry I’m not there to hold you.”
She swallowed and looked down at her sheet but the words she had written last night didn’t seem right anymore. She set the paper aside. Taking a handful from the pile of dirt, she sprinkled it over the box. The dirt made a dull rapping sound against the wood. It hurt.
“Sorry.”
The hole seemed to take longer to fill than it had to dig while she worked but once she had finished, it felt far too short, only a wink of a moment to make the grave disappear like it had never been.
Eva wiped shaky hands against her already dirty jeans. “I hope you aren’t missing me. I wouldn’t have been a very good mom. I didn’t even realize how much I wanted you until after you were gone…
She fidgeted with her gloves, unsnagging pine needles.
“I hope it wasn’t something I did that made you come so early. I haven’t drunk or smoked anything since I found out about you.
I hope it didn’t hurt.”
Still no tears. She picked up her notes again. “The last thing is always a song. I know Amazing Grace is generally used but I can’t remember the verses very well and this one has your name in it. It’s one of my favourites too.”
She took a deep breath, “so anyway, here goes:
Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing o’er the plain
And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo”
The song slipped between tree branches and snowflakes upwards. It lifted with it some of the ache leaving behind something like peace… hope?
Eva let the hope settle inside. By the time she stood up to leave, it would slip away again but just for now she would hold to it.
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oria in excelsis Deo
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Into the Black
Falling to the black
Slipping through the cracks
The smell of lightning hung heavy in the air. Dark clouds approached from the left. Barak resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and kept his eyes on the danger in front of him. Avi would lead the refugees out of the black desert to safety in spite of the storm if only Barak and the few who stood with them could delay the soldiers long enough.
“They’re coming.” Lora fidgeted on her feet not far from him.
No one answered her. The sound of many boots tramping over hard rock rang over the distant thunder and the dark red and grey of the Capitol soldiers’ uniforms stood out all too well against the black landscape. They moved slowly now that they had crossed into where the black desert’s treacherous cracks rippled beneath a thin layer of rock but they hadn’t turned back.
Thirty-six. Thirty-six of the Capitol’s best against seventeen desperate but mostly untrained refugees. Maft. If we can just slow them down…
A soft moan came from behind Barak. Some one else had been counting the odds as well.
“Peace,” Barak spoke loud enough for each to hear and took a few moments to meet the eyes of as many as he could, “stand firm. Listen for Achala and Ethan’s warnings. Do not let yourself be moved from the safe ground.”
Achala, unarmed and unafraid, winked at him. Perhaps even more so than Avi, she knew the pattern of the desert’s cracks and had confidence in using them against an enemy. But she didn’t know how relentless the Capitol could be.
He could smell them now, a mix of aeran dye, mated iron and bloodlust. He recognized the face of the Captain but didn’t know the man’s name. Several of the soldiers carried the Capitol’s short crossbows but Barak did not think them foolish enough to use them here. Ethan’s arrows, on the other hand, held no risk of enflaming the volatile desert.
So much for your dark inventions and trickery. Your numbers are your only advantage here.
Rain began to fall in slow heavy drops. Perhaps the Captain sensed the trap ahead because he brought his soldiers to an abrupt halt still some distance away but well within Ethan’s range. Barak willed an arrow to fly straight into the Captain’s unprotected neck but none came.
Curse your sense of honour, Ethan! What are you waiting for?
The thunder rumbled closer but neither side moved as the Captain studied the refugees with undisguised suspicion. Impatience chafed at Barak. When the Captain turned his way, he offered a full mocking grin.
Scared?
Recognition and anger spread across the Captain’s face simultaneously. He gave a harsh command to his soldiers and a half dozen moved in front before the whole company started forward again. Short swords rasped out of sheaths.
Ten more steps… Four, three, two-
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Blind Arol
The priestess crouched on the black stone behind the curtains. Her hands moved through a squat pink tongue of fire she could not see. It did not burn her. Sullen night held sway outside of the temple walls but Arol did not care. Blazing sunlight or moonless dark, it was all the same to her.
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Thursday, January 28, 2010
A Place in My Heart for You and Me
Walk over the dusty floorboards, dust motes swirl in shafts of light.
Misty rain slips through a glassless window.
A stream of clear cool water winds from the surrounding wood and encircles the foundation.
It soaks over the underlying rock and rushes through the cracked walls.
Barefoot in the sun-sparkling puddles, knees smeared with dust.
The one will wash the other away.
Misty rain slips through a glassless window.
A stream of clear cool water winds from the surrounding wood and encircles the foundation.
It soaks over the underlying rock and rushes through the cracked walls.
Barefoot in the sun-sparkling puddles, knees smeared with dust.
The one will wash the other away.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
from Chapter One
Kas’SaDe knelt down in the thick spongy moss of the forest floor. No discernable path lay before or behind her but she knew the way to go. ToByan was home. She knew the life and routine of the forest as surely as she knew herself even if she had never ventured this far before now. She knew dozens of safe plants and insects to eat, the restorative uses of tera seeds and how to overcome jaglars. She knew all the frog songs and what they foretold. She knew the smell of imminent rain. But she had never, even when deep in the haunts of jaglars, known the experience of being hunted.
The uncomfortable sensation of vulnerability had clung to her for more than an hour now, growing progressively in strength. Goosebumps rose across her arms, the muscles in the back of her neck contracted tightly and every sense tingled with heightened awareness.
As she had done repeatedly throughout the past two days of her journey, she waited, crouched in the tricky shadows of ToByan. One hand rested on the woven pouch belted to her side. She listened. Tiny flies buzzed over her lips and nose but she kept still. Only her eyes moved, scanning slowly through the dappled patterns of light in moss, brush and tree. Vy toads wooed each other in the canopy above and vy irises saturated the air with pungent spice. A bramble snake slithered across the ground within arm’s reach. She made a note of its movement to her left as it circled a large boulder and vanished into the thorny entanglement of bramble tress behind. Nothing else moved over the ground. All was as it should be, indeed as it had been for the past two days, but Kas could not shake her unease.
The hand over the woven pouch tightened subconsciously.
So much trouble for a simple letter!
Kas didn’t need to pull it out of the carrier pouch to picture it clearly before her. The gravity with which the letter was entrusted to her had sealed its image in her mind. A small white square sealed with dark red wax on the front and addressed with a single name in black flowing calligraphy on the back. Besides brief initial direction, that name was all Kas had to guide her. It was unfamiliar to her and her tongue stumbled over the strange pronunciation:
Ùghdair.
The uncomfortable sensation of vulnerability had clung to her for more than an hour now, growing progressively in strength. Goosebumps rose across her arms, the muscles in the back of her neck contracted tightly and every sense tingled with heightened awareness.
As she had done repeatedly throughout the past two days of her journey, she waited, crouched in the tricky shadows of ToByan. One hand rested on the woven pouch belted to her side. She listened. Tiny flies buzzed over her lips and nose but she kept still. Only her eyes moved, scanning slowly through the dappled patterns of light in moss, brush and tree. Vy toads wooed each other in the canopy above and vy irises saturated the air with pungent spice. A bramble snake slithered across the ground within arm’s reach. She made a note of its movement to her left as it circled a large boulder and vanished into the thorny entanglement of bramble tress behind. Nothing else moved over the ground. All was as it should be, indeed as it had been for the past two days, but Kas could not shake her unease.
The hand over the woven pouch tightened subconsciously.
So much trouble for a simple letter!
Kas didn’t need to pull it out of the carrier pouch to picture it clearly before her. The gravity with which the letter was entrusted to her had sealed its image in her mind. A small white square sealed with dark red wax on the front and addressed with a single name in black flowing calligraphy on the back. Besides brief initial direction, that name was all Kas had to guide her. It was unfamiliar to her and her tongue stumbled over the strange pronunciation:
Ùghdair.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Why Write?
Bizarrely enough, listening to Romeo Dallaire the other night reminded me of why I want to write (besides the whole characters who talk back when I talk to them crazy story loving obsessiveness).
I want to be able to write down the stories of others. The tragic, the beautiful, the simple, the ridiculous. More along the lines of collections of short stories than complete biographies. I would like to spend time in long term care centres learning/writing the stories of the seniors. The same in refugee/displaced persons' camps.
My writing skills have a long way to go to reach this but we'll see.
In the realm of fiction, I am drawn mostly to allegory. I would like for people to be able to see their own lives/experiences in the stories I write, to relate to the brokenness and then the hope. Blurring the line between reality and imaginary in my stories that the readers might be more likely to see the connection between the physical and the spiritual.
I want to learn how to tell stories in the old fashioned auditory way as well, to make bedtime stories for my kids like I did for the campers this summer.
All that said, I don't see myself writing as a career. More like writing will just be a part of the other things that I do. I am a nurse, a dancer and an intercessor all of which connect to story.
Most of all, I really want my writing to be another way I show God I love Him, another form of worship.
Oh the Great Romance!
*dances in circles*
I want to be able to write down the stories of others. The tragic, the beautiful, the simple, the ridiculous. More along the lines of collections of short stories than complete biographies. I would like to spend time in long term care centres learning/writing the stories of the seniors. The same in refugee/displaced persons' camps.
My writing skills have a long way to go to reach this but we'll see.
In the realm of fiction, I am drawn mostly to allegory. I would like for people to be able to see their own lives/experiences in the stories I write, to relate to the brokenness and then the hope. Blurring the line between reality and imaginary in my stories that the readers might be more likely to see the connection between the physical and the spiritual.
I want to learn how to tell stories in the old fashioned auditory way as well, to make bedtime stories for my kids like I did for the campers this summer.
All that said, I don't see myself writing as a career. More like writing will just be a part of the other things that I do. I am a nurse, a dancer and an intercessor all of which connect to story.
Most of all, I really want my writing to be another way I show God I love Him, another form of worship.
Oh the Great Romance!
*dances in circles*
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
NaNoWriMo!
Hurrah, I am in the midst of a story.
Perhaps I will post an excerpt here at some point. :)
Email me if you would like to read the whole thing.
*writes in circles*
Perhaps I will post an excerpt here at some point. :)
Email me if you would like to read the whole thing.
*writes in circles*
Friday, September 12, 2008
Sonlight
She sits on the dark rock and watches light appear on the horizon. Pale streaks of red reach toward the fading stars. The wind blows her hair back from her face and I wonder if she can hear me approach. I stop within arm's reach behind her. Silent. What is there to say?
She speaks before I can form words, "Why?"
Curiosity and pain carry the question but I hear no anger in her tone. I want to answer, to explain why I did what I did. But there is still so much for her to discover. She won't understand yet. I shut my eyes but the tears slip through as I stand.
She sighs. Her head bows down over her knees. She leans forwards and crouches, palms flat against the black rock. The sun peeks over the water. A long dark shadow covers my feet.
My stomach knots within me. Please, don't give up now. Now, the blazing light shimmers off the ocean, blinds me so I cannot see what she will do.
Until she rises.
A silhouette, her outstretched arms outlined by brilliant light. She lifts her face to the light.
Seeking the son.
She speaks before I can form words, "Why?"
Curiosity and pain carry the question but I hear no anger in her tone. I want to answer, to explain why I did what I did. But there is still so much for her to discover. She won't understand yet. I shut my eyes but the tears slip through as I stand.
She sighs. Her head bows down over her knees. She leans forwards and crouches, palms flat against the black rock. The sun peeks over the water. A long dark shadow covers my feet.
My stomach knots within me. Please, don't give up now. Now, the blazing light shimmers off the ocean, blinds me so I cannot see what she will do.
Until she rises.
A silhouette, her outstretched arms outlined by brilliant light. She lifts her face to the light.
Seeking the son.
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