Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Imagination

A short passage from my latest chapter...just to keep the suspense rolling. It's tough to find many parts of the work that doesn't reveal too much!


Chapter 14: Violet Storm

His lips quiver into a small smile and then large arms pull me into a tight embrace. “Flower, I’ve missed you so much.” A hand caresses the back of my head, and runs softly down the length of my hair. The Monarch holds me like he’s breathing air for the first time since his daughter went missing. Unwilling to steal this moment from him, I allow my body to loosen, to accept his mixture of grief and joy, and to wrap itself around the man who obviously loves his daughter more than anyone or anything else in the world. I hug him back like I would my own father on the day I’m reunited with him again.

It might have been only several minutes, but it feels closer to an eternity in hell within my torn mind before he releases me. The Monarch gestures for me to take my seat across from him on the small round table. His light eyes are rimmed in red but his face is grinning broadly. I let the image stab my soul; consume my conscience for it’s less than I deserve...


... My eyes close of their own accord, and also because I know I have to answer him with something. “I’m sorry, father, I don’t. All I remember is running through the city, and being attacked by one of the guards. And then…I woke up here.” The lie that is only partly a lie, will have to do. My new life started over again, and for the third time no less. The second, was the night I’d woken up in Behr’s shed to discover Agria had been destroyed. The third, was the night Aemon stabbed me in the neck with sleeping serum, and then waking up to discover that there was no remnant of the girl I was before...



I don't know how many more chapters lie ahead of me. But after each chapter, each day of work that steals hours upon hours of my days, I catch a glimpse of my purpose and it reinvigorates me. It reignites the passion to weave the stories my creative conscience wants so badly to have written; to relive over and over again.

Imagination is a wonderful thing.

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