This Side of the Story
by
JK Bradley
Published by JK Bradley at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 JK Bradley
Discover other works by JK Bradley at
http://www.TheBradleyChronicles.wordpress.com
http://www.TheBradleyChronicles.com
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This Side of the Story
Amariah never married, could never, once she knew, once she understood the truth, once she grasped the authenticity of their past, the realness of forever, the present had become a death sentence, unavoidable, and painstakingly slow. There is no going back, once the veil is lifted, if even a sliver of what is concealed comes through, the taste of that fruit removes all of the protective naivety of this life. A child's smile, laughter between siblings, music, art, singing, dancing, all are gifts, she believes, to help her endure, and for these she is thankful, she feels hopeful, and she is angry, and heartbroken.
She could not share a life in vain. Any other lover would be temporary. She thinks another attempt at love, even transient, even for mere physical contentedness, would be a betrayal to the eternal.
A love with another might have elements that make it feel right, might soothe, might raise emotions, might challenge the heart, might provide comfort. She believes, however, it would only be false. She believes nothing passes from one life to the next, nothing is taken beyond, nothing, except real love. The kind that grabs you, shakes your very foundation, takes your breath away, literally stops your heart, makes you wonder if you ever loved before. That kind of love is raw. That kind of love is honest, on a level that transcends the simplicity of life. That kind of love, once you realize it for what it is, once your eyes are finally seeing it, eyes wide open, is undeniable.
This ache, this joy, this passion, this love is forever, it is what she calls 'Home'.
Even now, having lived most of a century, having missed, having never found someone else, having never looked for someone like him, for all this time, having been separated by the veil between life and death, her heart could never leave Antoine.
Tears trace fine creases, still holding so much beauty all these years. Gracefully buoyant, she moves through the evening mist, under the watchful moon, eyes unfocused, gliding, following an unseen path, silently singing “...there's a place for us...somewhere, a place for us...”
In the distance a sound becomes a song, almost like an echo, softly, hauntingly beautiful; weepingly, a violin sings back to her. A form ahead, pale, luminescent, stands tall, nearly immaterial. Leaning with each tone, swaying, eyes closed, sensuously drawing a bow. His hair is messed and short, his clothing hangs upon his thin frame, a red glint from his violin. She thinks of sea glass, tumbling in unyielding waves, shaping, polishing, becoming. His song is something classical, yet, unknown to her. His eyes open, he sees her, sees through her. “Amariah.” He breathes, slowly, controlled. “Amariah.”
His eyes are known to her. Through the curtain of blurring tears she sees him for who he is. He draws again, the music comes in waves of passionate color, a tactile quality moves with the music, vibrations stroke her soul. “Somewhere, there's a place for us.” No words are sung but she can feel the deep richness of his once penetrating voice, this melody. She is flushing with anticipation, with arousal. Tears flow uncontrollably.
His voice, commandingly, gently, warmly, comes within her, saying one thing. “Soon.”
“Antoine.”
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