Every Sunday, I share a snippet of one of my many writing projects here on the blog, for your enjoyment. In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, each snippet this month will be taken from this year's NaNoWriMo novel. (In other words, expect bad grammar and poor word choices.) Enjoy!
(Just a bit of extended information: my NaNo novel this year is told from two separate points of view. Last week's snippet was from Orlena--the main character's--point of view. This weeks is from another point of view--which one it is, though, I'm not quite ready to say yet. ;] )
~~
The dark figure was still there. Same distance. Same stance. Same position.
It may not have moved, but I sure had.
I’m not sure how much time had passed since I started walking; walking towards that…that person that stood there. It almost felt like they were waiting for me, ever patiently, to reach them.
It looked like they would be waiting for quite a while, though, as I had made little to no progress in reaching them…despite the seemingly long time I had spent trying. There had to be some trick, some other way to get to them. Otherwise I never would.
“Do you need help, child?”
I jumped at the sudden voice and spun around. An aged man, his face cloaked in wrinkles and his hair stained white, stood before me. His attire was white; pure, blinding white, that covered his frail and slouched body from his collar down to the tips of his feet.
“Who are you?” I asked. “How did you get here?”
He chuckled. His voice was deep. Deep and…familiar. “That, my dear, seems to be the least of your worries. Even if I told you who I was, I’m not sure you would remember.”
Remember? “So…do I know you?”
“You did, for a time.”
I paused for a minute, waiting for him to elaborate, but instead he remained silent.
“So, um…are you going to tell me who I am, then?”
“I’m afraid I can’t, you dear. The only way for you to figure that out is to remember for yourself.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “If I could do that, I wouldn’t be having this problem.”
“Remembering isn’t as simple as you think, my dear. Especially when the past holds as much pain as yours does.”
Pain? “So…are you saying that I don’t want to remember?”
“Not necessarily.” His silver grey eyes sparkled with kindness and sincerity. “There are many memories I’m sure you would like to retrieve; ones that are much kinder and sweeter than others. The painful memories form a block. Your heart and your mind have formed a blockage; a form of self defense, to avoid reliving the pain you once experienced in life.”
The way he said “in life” sent a chill down my spine. “Am I…am I dead?”
“I’m afraid there’s only one way to find out, my dear.” He extended a weathered hand towards me. “Would you like to remember?”
~~
Until later,
- Justyne
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