I have thought about sharing this for a time — months, really. And today I’ve decided to go ahead and share it. It’s a first draft, part of the opening chapter of one of the projects I’m working on. Working title: “Disparate Threads.”
(For an out-of-story glimpse at Ayrella and the others she interacts with, check out my exploration of what is happening when the story-writing stalls out)
Ayrella stood on the edge of the cliff, her eyes turned to the rocks below. The ocean raged, energized by storms brewing miles away, hurling the blue-green water against the rocks with such force that a spray of foamy-white mist roses halfway up the cliff’s face. But aside from the waves there was no sign of storms. It was strange, Ayrella reflected, that the ocean could be in such turmoil and the shore could be so perfectly calm. A gentle breeze lifted just a few strands of hair away from her face and gently ruffled her skirt. The sky was a pure, clear blue that allowed the sun to shine clearly, warming her face.
She wanted it to be stormy, with a wind that would blow her long brown hair all around her face and tangle her skirt. She wished for the downpour of rain that would soak her clothing, adding the physical weight of heavy clothes that would make it a challenge to take even a few steps. Lighting, cracking through the darkened sky, sending bits of light and excitement through the air — that was the weather that should have filled the day. That was the way the weather should have been over the past month, if she had been able to control it. Continue reading