Hello Dear Reader!
I hope you are doing well despite the social distancing and such as a result of the virus. Finding ways to keep myself busy that don’t include going outside is tough, but I’ve been getting by pretty well with this blog, my Instagram, my upcoming exams, my WIP, and the books I have on my shelf.
While I don’t have a Saint Patrick’s Day-themed short story or writing piece for you, I do have one of my special scenes from a chapter in Gray Heart.
I hope you enjoy!
Lives . . .
All around, people young and old surrounded a young woman, emanating a certain colored aura, symbolizing they were alive. None of them were moving, though. It was as if the woman was standing in the middle of a graveyard full of human statues.
Wavering . . .
The bright, flowing auras wavered in their consistent luster. They flickered like flames being tossed around in a strong wind. Just like those fragile, candle-lit flames, the withering lights looked like they were on the verge of extinguishing.
Suddenly . . .
The flames of life flickered more violently.
Dead . . .
The bright red, blue, green, and white flames were extinguished, and thin, wispy ribbons of colored smoke rose into the air and disappeared. The surrounding area grew pitch-black and cold. All signs of previous living souls were gone.
Bodies . . .
The still, stone, hollow statues of humans started to crack. The sound of snapping bone filled the woman’s ears.
Crumble . . .
They burst into piles of dust and rock, leaving her surrounded by differing sizes of piles of rubble.
Forgotten . . .
A firm wind picked up the rocks and dust with nimble fingers, carrying the remnants to an unknown sanctuary. She felt as the small particles gently brushed against her skin, as if pleading her to stay with them. The sensation had feeling as if small grains of sand were brushing against her cheeks, but the woman knew better.
Suddenly . . .
The last few flecks of dust caressed her pale cheek in a final attempt to escape the strong hands of the gentle wind.
I feel lonely . . .
The woman opened her eyes, revealing deep brown eyes that were speckled gold. However, in a matter of moments, those golden flecks faded away into the sea of dark brown waves.
But I have four sealed away inside of me. I should not have these feelings of sorrow and despair. The woman fisted the cloth that lay over her heart. Then again, the four souls inside of me are the dark souls of the irregulars.
The whole vision faded to black. The woman’s voice only remained.
The beings of darkness . . . they will never die, and they will never leave. They will always remain.
A shrill scream pierced through the vast emptiness of the dark void. Kanna opened her eyes, waking up in a cold sweat. Sitting up in her bed, she rubbed a hand on her neck and was not surprised to see a clear sheen of sweat on her fingers. It had been an intense dream, even more so than all the previous ones she had seen in the past.
Who was that woman? she asked herself. And that scream at the very end . . . It didn’t belong to her. It sounded as if it belonged to a young girl.
Kanna shook her head and cleared her mind of these thoughts, moving them to the inner borders of her memory, glad that her irregulars were still asleep. She stiffened as one thought popped into her mind. She continued braiding her hair as she stood from her bed.
Today, I turn seventeen. Today, I meet the champions. She tied her braided black locks with the gray ribbon she wore at the championship tournament. Today, Aunt Arabeth’s secret condition is revealed.