This is so beautiful... such loving, gentle dialogue. I feel I've got a glimpse here of your writing beyond this project - even if based on true events, this feels like part of a short story or novel...
I can't add this to the curate archive over on the book site, only because you are not present within the action of the story - this is (along with word-length, and some other key criteria) one of my submission criteria for tales that can be included.
Do take a look at these before your next piece, as I remain eager to include more work by you:
I hope you will use this piece in your own substack or consider finding a place to submit it for publication (if you haven't though of this already that is!)
Tanya, I’m so sorry. I keep making work for you. :( I shall delete the first comment in the thread and hope it deletes all this so no one else sees what I’ve done and gets the same idea. Sorry again. M.
Please don’t delete - it’s a beautiful piece of writing & I have no concerns about it confusing others. I only need to hold to my project criteria so I can ensure a clear process for everyone (it also limits risk to me & these writing as writing about others is a tricky endeavour…).
I also need to remind the whole community of the submission criteria as now more people are joining they don’t always know how the project came about & for what - not should they. It’s on me to do updates now we’re in year three!
Keep writing here! But also be sending work to other places based on this. You’ve got a strong & good voice…
Oh, Tanya. I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again! Thank you again for your kind words, gentle reminders, and unwavering generosity. I’ll post it again below (as well as on my own little corner of Substack!). M.
- - - - -
Soul-tying
She called him to her.
“Genevieve.” A pause, seconds short, lifetimes long. “Ginny?”
She opened her eyes. Once a beautiful hazel now rheumy and opaque.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“Sit with me.”
He sat. Listened to her laboured breathing, the breaths becoming shallower and easier with each one passing.
“Kiss me.”
He did.
His white bristles caused the old electricity to jump between them.
Ginny felt her soul leave her body. Instead of heading up, up into the everlasting May morning she knew awaited her, it skipped into a new (old, familiar) vessel.
That night, curtains wide, welcoming the stars and moon she’d loved so, he visited the jewelled memories, turning them over and over, feeling their weight, the sun’s warmth, before returning each to its well-worn place.
He’d truly loved her. She’d never voiced her feelings. A lifetime passed, and now he’d never know.
He felt a great joy swell in his chest. Poker-hot at first, it settled into something warm, cat-like. Heavy and reassuring as he lay in waxing moonlight.
A smile spread across his face as he relived the kiss. After they’d caught their breath they’d agreed it was time-stopping, soul-tying.
The cat on his chest purred, sensed the shift from reverie to sleep. She fed him sweet dreams of oaken kisses and summer rain-filled lanes.
He woke, felt the warm spot on his chest where until recently a comforting cat had been curled, waiting, and a sudden conviction took him.
Motorway hours, A-road minutes, lane seconds later he walked the route so beloved to them that short gift of a summer.
He sat under their oak, back against the sun-warmed bark. No rain today.
He thought of the kiss again and felt her soul slip away into the new, bright leaves. Thought he heard her laugh.
This is so beautiful... such loving, gentle dialogue. I feel I've got a glimpse here of your writing beyond this project - even if based on true events, this feels like part of a short story or novel...
I can't add this to the curate archive over on the book site, only because you are not present within the action of the story - this is (along with word-length, and some other key criteria) one of my submission criteria for tales that can be included.
Do take a look at these before your next piece, as I remain eager to include more work by you:
https://thecureforsleep.com/contributor-guidelines/
I hope you will use this piece in your own substack or consider finding a place to submit it for publication (if you haven't though of this already that is!)
Txxx
Tanya, I’m so sorry. I keep making work for you. :( I shall delete the first comment in the thread and hope it deletes all this so no one else sees what I’ve done and gets the same idea. Sorry again. M.
Please don’t delete - it’s a beautiful piece of writing & I have no concerns about it confusing others. I only need to hold to my project criteria so I can ensure a clear process for everyone (it also limits risk to me & these writing as writing about others is a tricky endeavour…).
I also need to remind the whole community of the submission criteria as now more people are joining they don’t always know how the project came about & for what - not should they. It’s on me to do updates now we’re in year three!
Keep writing here! But also be sending work to other places based on this. You’ve got a strong & good voice…
Xxx
Oh, Tanya. I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again! Thank you again for your kind words, gentle reminders, and unwavering generosity. I’ll post it again below (as well as on my own little corner of Substack!). M.
- - - - -
Soul-tying
She called him to her.
“Genevieve.” A pause, seconds short, lifetimes long. “Ginny?”
She opened her eyes. Once a beautiful hazel now rheumy and opaque.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
“Sit with me.”
He sat. Listened to her laboured breathing, the breaths becoming shallower and easier with each one passing.
“Kiss me.”
He did.
His white bristles caused the old electricity to jump between them.
Ginny felt her soul leave her body. Instead of heading up, up into the everlasting May morning she knew awaited her, it skipped into a new (old, familiar) vessel.
That night, curtains wide, welcoming the stars and moon she’d loved so, he visited the jewelled memories, turning them over and over, feeling their weight, the sun’s warmth, before returning each to its well-worn place.
He’d truly loved her. She’d never voiced her feelings. A lifetime passed, and now he’d never know.
He felt a great joy swell in his chest. Poker-hot at first, it settled into something warm, cat-like. Heavy and reassuring as he lay in waxing moonlight.
A smile spread across his face as he relived the kiss. After they’d caught their breath they’d agreed it was time-stopping, soul-tying.
The cat on his chest purred, sensed the shift from reverie to sleep. She fed him sweet dreams of oaken kisses and summer rain-filled lanes.
He woke, felt the warm spot on his chest where until recently a comforting cat had been curled, waiting, and a sudden conviction took him.
Motorway hours, A-road minutes, lane seconds later he walked the route so beloved to them that short gift of a summer.
He sat under their oak, back against the sun-warmed bark. No rain today.
He thought of the kiss again and felt her soul slip away into the new, bright leaves. Thought he heard her laugh.