a loss in the family…

I am currently submerged in work, including reading two new books. The first is a really great work of fiction entitled The Time Traveler’s Wife, and is the book that the movie was based off of. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I’ve ordered an early copy of it as soon as it comes out. I love Rachel McAdams so I’m hoping I’m not disappointed.

Today, I was about 3/4ths through the book when I got inspired to write a peice similar to a portion of the book. The style is completely different and not my usual either, but the theme is the same. I haven’t written creative prose since I took up essay writing, but it feels good to know I still can when I want to. Here we go:

There is an awkward tension in the air. He rocks back and forth on his heels—heel toe, heel toe—and looks at her in the way men who do not know the nature of women often do. She is sitting in the armchair, her long unbraided hair falling over her thin, frail shoulders as if it is trying to extinguish the coldness between them. She drapes one arm over the chair and rests her pale face on the creases of her gown. Her expression is of one who has no expression—but empty and void of anything remotely like emotion. Her face is drained of color, and the entirety of her figure and her lifeless expression makes the impression of her being a sad plaything, a doll.

          The man takes all of this in without remark. He continues his rhythmic heel toe, heel toe; and it calms the beating of his heart.

          “Everything will be alright, Evelyn,” he says in a voice which betrays his false hopes, “we can try again. We can always try again.”

          He knows before she moves to lift her head, giving him a look of transfixed sorrow, that this is a lie. He knows it. There are some things in the world where having what one wants in the future does not replace what was lost in the past. He knows that there were things that they will never have, now, and things they will forever live with. They will never have that innocent happiness that comes with love without pain; but they will always have a drain that cannot be stopped by space nor by time.

          He goes to her, upon his knee, and tries to lift her face in his hands. She stares at him and the drain beneath her pupils are unmistakable; there is no miracle in the world that could bring back the light there that once shone. He brings her up gently until she stands, weaving back and forth like a stalk in the wind, and gathers her delicate frame into his arms.

          He digs deep within himself to find something to say that has not been said, something more honest and open than a half-hearted reassurance. He wishes he could sweep her into his arms and run out to the courtyard, point at the irises and tulips and say, “do you see what I see? Here there is life, life to be lived. We can be happy again.” The words are stuck to his lips as he mouths them—“we can be happy again.”

          Evelyn looks at him but does not see. He presses her face to his chest and feels her lips. He wants to say so much, to show her the spring leaves on the maple trees and the shaggy dog who barks incessantly at bluebirds. He wants to swing her around like a child until she laughs in that twinkling way she does. He wants to catch her, laughing with her, and say—“see? I knew everything would be alright. Didn’t I tell you everything would be alright?” and she would nod and say, “I should have believed you.” And they would return to their bed and try again.

          Instead, he can feel the tears soak his shirt and seep into his skin. It turns cold and sits there and he cannot move to say anything he wants to. All he can manage is to hold her in his arms as she weeps, rocking back and forth, and repeating the lie over and over, as if the longer he lies, the more the lies seem like truths.

“Everything will be alright,” he whispers.

It’s just once scene I wrote, and I may expand on it later. We will see.

also, I have a chictopia.com blog if you didn’t know, and it’s under the username Asiangoddess1610.

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