Sometimes, inspiration is inconvenient.
Here I am, wanting my imagination to get on with finishing “Last Light” and get started on my “Blood, Flesh and Fear” my NaNoWriMo novel attempt but it completely ignores me and writes something else instead
I long ago learned that this kind of thing is my subconscious trying to tell me something so I roll with it.
Below is what seems to the be a slightly strange opening to a love story. I’ll let you know when my imagination shares the rest of it with me.
The man on the bed whimpers in his sleep. He does not toss and turn. His skin is not slick with sweat. His body is still and peaceful. Yet the whimpers persist.
The younger of the two beings standing beside the man’s bed leans closer and watches the sleeper with great attention. He notes the small flickers of emotion that pass like shadows across the man’s face as each whimper escapes. He places his hand on the man’s forehead, extends his awareness and follows the route of one of the emotions back and back until he reaches the null point in which the man’s soul resides.
“Can you see it?” The older being asks.
“Yes. A small injury, inflicted a long time ago. I don’t understand. If this is the injury, why does he still have pain?”
The older being is pleased by the compassion in his pupil’s voice. It is the proper response to pain. “Look closely,” he says, “What do you see?”
“A fracture. No, wait, several tiny fractures each in the same place, healing over one another.”
“Good. Now draw back. What do you notice?”
“Ah, I see. The regrowth is not straight.”
“His soul moves as if it were still injured. He does not put his weight on it.”
“He does not trust it to hold. It has failed him before.”
The younger being withdraws his hand from the man’s head, glad to leave the tumult of emotion and memory and hope and fear behind and return to his own serenity. Yet he finds that he has carried with him a residue of the man’s suffering that disturbs the tranquility of his thoughts and demands his attention. As he has been trained to do, he takes his concern to his mentor.
“I am puzzled by what I have seen. The healing worked. The soul is no longer injured. So why is there still pain?”
“Some of them can sense what they might have become. He knows that he did not heal straight. He mourns that loss.”
“But only in his dreams. He does not recognise this when he is awake.”
“When he is awake, he takes care not to see and besides, it is his lost dreams that he mourns for.”
“Can we help him?”
“It is not our purpose.”
“I know, but…”
“He can help himself. They can all help themselves. You know what he needs.”
“Then let us pray he finds it.”
“Now that is part of our purpose.”