Sunday, June 23, 2019

Playing With Your Muse (short story) (2 of 2) by Leanne Dyck

You, the writer, continue to listen and I, the muse, tell you a story about an elderly woman who...

Linked to part 1


photo by ldyck

Play With Your Muse (continued)

"Yes, knitting. The clicking of needles matches the rocking of her chair. Knit. Purl. Knit. P--. The needles fall out of her hands to the floor. Her body is thrown against the chair; her eyes roll into her skull. As if pulled by a string, she rises to her feet. Her body moves like she's made of wood like she's a marionette. The knitting basket stands in her way. Her right leg kicks out toppling it. Needles and yarn shower the floor. 

"Thud! Blind, she crashes into the wall. She stumbles back and moves over two inches. Second attempt successful, she leaves the living room and enters the kitchen. She passes fridge, sink, stove. Turning left into the utility room, she descends the creaking wood stairs to the basement. Knitted slippers on cold concrete, she faces a grey wall. Her right foot swings back, then forward and into the wall. She doesn't flinch. The wall crumbles to dust, revealing a tunnel four feet wide by six feet high. Unaided by light or sight, she finds a grooved path and, with arms outstretched, she enters the tunnel. Where others would have faltered, the blind elderly woman weaves past dangling roots and over rocks. Further down the path, she plows into the edge of her life. Sliding her outstretched hands up and down, and to the left and right, she searches for a gap, but the darkness is unyielding.  Spread eagle, she squeezes her fingertips and the toes of her slippers into the void. A piercing white light pours out of the dark, wraps around her and melts her body. Flesh and bone dissolve into a single water droplet. Transformed she travels in the winds of time--a silent witness, observing but not observed.

"One sky blue, sun-filled day, a little girl runs outside to play. A single water droplet falls from the sky, onto her hand and is absorbed. Enwrapped by unexplained happiness, the child smiles." Story finished I release you.

Morning light poured through your bedroom window and directs your attention to the bedside table. There between the lamp and a pen, a notebook held the words we'd shaped into a story.



Next  Sunday evening (June 30)

Book Review:  That Time I Love You (linked stories)
by Carrianne Leung