As for writing, as I may have mentioned in earlier posts, I have written 2015 off as an opportunity to write as all my emotional and mental strength is spent in dealing with serious urgencies that are vocational and familial, but the last few weeks have allowed me to put hand to keyboard as I spin a tale about James and his cousin, Darcy, as they explore West High Street in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. In their wanderings, they find a cobble-stoned alley lined with odd little shops that grow odder as they journey its length.
You can find the first sample here and the second one here and I would encourage you to read them first. They are quite short.
I must confess I am having so much fun I just had to share a third. To write once again is to once again bring joy to a heart overburdened with obligations that though they are freely and lovingly given, have left me somewhat exhausted both in heart and soul. Please enjoy.
“Darcy, please,” I said. I was finding it hard to talk and breathe at the same time as I felt a fist of fear grip my chest and squeeze. “There’s something wrong here. We’re the only people here.”
Darcy turned and looked at me quizzically. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “There’s lots of people.” She swung her open hand down the empty street. “See?” With that, she spun about and crossed the little bridge to the other side.
Panicked, I followed behind, confused and frightened, refusing to understand Darcy’s comment on fellow shoppers only she could see and wanting to keep her close for her protection as well as my own.
On the other side of the bridge, Darcy gazed in a shop window in rapt attention, but before I could join her, I started seeing shadows from the corner of my eyes, shadows casually strolling down the street either singly or in pairs, walking in and out of the shops that lined the wide cobblestone alley. Spinning like a top, I tried to bring them into full focus. Trembling, I rubbed my eyes and opened them to find the bothersome shadows in my peripheral vision still present. I turned to Darcy and caught sight of the merchandise in the store window.
It was filled with dolls, exquisite ball-jointed works of art dressed in silk finery, but I backed away in horror when I recognized the sentience in their eyes, souls speaking through their glass orbs that clearly communicated sorrow and a plea for release.