I've been proofing and reformatting BC, and I'm finally at the end of book 2...and just want to share some of my writing that I'm actually a bit proud of. This is Eric's voice, after he's had an earth-shifting revelation.
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The night drifted past in its own time. Not long. Not short. Just real. The dark room was quiet. Still. At rest with me. Vague moonlight filtered in, reflecting hints of shadows on the ceiling. I slowly grew aware of how many shades of night there are. How many shifting colors of gray. Some whispery. Some warm. Some thin and cold. Some deep and mysterious. Some welcoming. All blending together in my crowded little life to add room where there once was none.
Even the silence was gray. Nothing harsh or sharp or startling shrieked at me, that night, not from the street or the sky or my neighbor’s abodes. Nor was there an absence of sound. Just the eternal breath of gentle existence flowing in, flowing out. Soft in. Soft out.
I felt at peace. Complete and utter peace for the first time in...well, honestly, in my life. Not tired. Not sad. Not weary of the world. Not angry. I was just...pleased about lying there, if that can make sense. Pleased because it meant nothing. Not one thing more than what it was. And I savored it. I drifted in it. Floated upon it. Let it hold me and caress me and make love to me in its nothingness. Let it banish any disturbance against my quietude. Even Jag, who can sometimes be restless as he sleeps, lay as still as death.
Just as the day was beginning to make itself known to the night, again, I felt something whisper over the tips of my hair. And lay itself on the left side of my face. It was like someone’s left hand covering me from the top of my eyebrow to the line of my chin, its little finger nestled in the crook of my eye by the bridge of my nose. It was cozy. Warm. Exquisite in its strength and tenderness. I felt as though I knew it would come. Hoped it would. So when it did, I rolled my face into it. Let it glide over my nose and caress my right eye and drift soft against my right cheek. Its thumb drew gentle across my lips. I felt as though I’d been kissed. The fingers trailed down my neck and whispered away. I don’t know whose hand it was -- Bobby’s, God’s, my guardian angel’s, my imagination’s -- it didn’t matter. I felt so light and easy, I smiled and went to sleep.
The night drifted past in its own time. Not long. Not short. Just real. The dark room was quiet. Still. At rest with me. Vague moonlight filtered in, reflecting hints of shadows on the ceiling. I slowly grew aware of how many shades of night there are. How many shifting colors of gray. Some whispery. Some warm. Some thin and cold. Some deep and mysterious. Some welcoming. All blending together in my crowded little life to add room where there once was none.
Even the silence was gray. Nothing harsh or sharp or startling shrieked at me, that night, not from the street or the sky or my neighbor’s abodes. Nor was there an absence of sound. Just the eternal breath of gentle existence flowing in, flowing out. Soft in. Soft out.
I felt at peace. Complete and utter peace for the first time in...well, honestly, in my life. Not tired. Not sad. Not weary of the world. Not angry. I was just...pleased about lying there, if that can make sense. Pleased because it meant nothing. Not one thing more than what it was. And I savored it. I drifted in it. Floated upon it. Let it hold me and caress me and make love to me in its nothingness. Let it banish any disturbance against my quietude. Even Jag, who can sometimes be restless as he sleeps, lay as still as death.
Just as the day was beginning to make itself known to the night, again, I felt something whisper over the tips of my hair. And lay itself on the left side of my face. It was like someone’s left hand covering me from the top of my eyebrow to the line of my chin, its little finger nestled in the crook of my eye by the bridge of my nose. It was cozy. Warm. Exquisite in its strength and tenderness. I felt as though I knew it would come. Hoped it would. So when it did, I rolled my face into it. Let it glide over my nose and caress my right eye and drift soft against my right cheek. Its thumb drew gentle across my lips. I felt as though I’d been kissed. The fingers trailed down my neck and whispered away. I don’t know whose hand it was -- Bobby’s, God’s, my guardian angel’s, my imagination’s -- it didn’t matter. I felt so light and easy, I smiled and went to sleep.
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