Excerpt from The Child of Heaven

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a new dimension, a new planet, aliens, Book Excerpts, constellation of Libra, Fantasy, Fiction, human condition, human experience, learning, Leia, Life on Leia, passage, pink planet, sebnem e.sanders, space travel, The Child of Heaven, The Passage, the universe, transportation

 

 

 

I posted the below excerpt on a prompt #neardeathexperiences , in a writers group on Facebook because the prompt reminded me of this excerpt from The Child of Heaven, my first completed manuscript. I may or may not publish it, soon. I need your opinion. Would you like to hear what happens before and after this excerpt? Tell me, please. I value your opinion. Thank you. 😍😍

(PS. only about 500 words. Like you, I don’t like very long posts, in small print.)

 

The Passage

 

 

Leila opened her eyes to a rosy haze. Stretched out beneath a bizarre blush of dawn, she could hear the echo of gentle waves coming from nearby. Her hands touched the smooth surface that felt like fine sand. She blinked several times and looked in the direction of the rhythmic hum. A vast beach bordering a sea seemed to expand infinitely. The turquoise-coloured sea met with the cerise sky far on the horizon. She sat up and looked behind her. She could make out the soft curves of rose-tinted hills encompassing the beach in the distance. As her eyes adjusted to the surroundings, she became aware that everything within her sight was dipped in a different shade of pink.

“Ton sur ton pink,” she mumbled.

Leila rose unsteadily and felt dizzy.  Trying to regain her balance, she walked a few steps. She stopped and looked around again. Not a single living creature seemed to be in sight; not a single tree, the odd bird or even an insect.

‘Where am I?’ she thought, uneasily. ‘Am I dead and is this heaven?’

Leila walked towards the sea and dipped her hand in the water. It felt cool. She tasted her wet finger. It was salty.  The waves rolled over her feet as she walked along the edge. It felt good.  A bright ball of crimson light in the sky sent  its rays to the sea, forming sparkling, spiral beams on the water.  Everything seemed peaceful and comforting, yet she felt strange and lonely. She knew she was in a different place.   In spite of the great calm surrounding her, uneasiness took over her soul. Leila stepped out of the sea and sat on the pink sand. While trying to debate her circumstances, she could feel the surge of panic rising in her chest.

She saw a figure approaching her from the direction of the hills and awaited in uncertainty. As the figure moved closer, she could make out the stature of a very tall, slim man, clad in a tight-fitting black outfit. The bald headed man with piercing turquoise eyes, stood grandly by Leila and said, “Hi, Leila, I’m Alem, and I am here to welcome you to Leia.”

“Leia, where is Leia? How did I get here? “

“Leia is a planet in the constellation of Libra, rather far  from planet Earth.  It is also called the pink planet because we have a crimson sun.”

“You mean you abducted me here from planet Earth?”

“No, Leila, we did not abduct you. You came here on your own free will. “

“How far is it from Earth?”

“In human terms, it’s more than twenty light-years away, but we don’t measure distances in those terms. Your measurements for distance and time are of no significance to us. We have different abilities to transport ourselves in space.”

“I’m not sure I totally believe you! Why would I want to go through such an ordeal?”

“You are probably much dazed and tired, but you will remember soon. We will try to make you as comfortable as possible. Let me take you to our guest quarters where you can rest and recover from your trip. “

 

The Child of Heaven ©2012 ©Sebnem E. Sanders

Part II Life on Leia

The Passage

 

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Delayed Plans

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aftershocks, age of aquarius, apathy, causes, chores, commitment issues, delayed plans, depression, earthquake, eclipse, excuses, Flash Fiction, memories, new order, old order, plans, symptoms, the universe, total solar eclipse

 

 

Leila read on the web, “Sometimes it’s perfectly okay and absolutely necessary to shut down, kick back, and do nothing.” The message boosted her ego, but she knew it was an excuse, not a solution to her condition of apathy. Why had she ended up this way? How had she lost her joie de vivre? Why was she so paralyzed to carry out her plans, from daily chores to meaningful pursuits she once believed were the purpose of her life? The conversations with her alter ego, more demanding than those with a school principle, led nowhere. She sat frozen, as time sped, not willing to clean the flat, organize her home, take care of her hair or body. Each day, she delayed these tasks until tomorrow, yet when tomorrow became today, she postponed her plans until the next day. This had been going for a while. The heat, the humidity, combined with the occasional threats of earthquakes in the Southern Aegean did not help, either. A series of excuses, symptoms – not causes.

 

Faced with the question, “When were you last happy?” on an internet questionnaire, Leila stopped to reflect. She couldn’t remember. This is pathetic, she thought, and tried to recall a moment of bliss. She was not an ungrateful person, she loved her home. Each night she went to sleep with the thought, and woke up feeling safe in her comfort zone. Scanning through her memories, she finally found a happy moment. The boat trip along the Bosphorus in Istanbul. The plankton explosion, the turquoise sea, on a warm and sunny day in June. That was two months ago, which reminded her that the suitcase from the trip still lay on the divan in the spare bedroom, to be dealt with tomorrow.

 

Life passed her by, despite her conscience disturbing her from time to time, and urging her to do something – anything.  I need help, she thought and reached for the phone to call an old friend. One she didn’t have to pretend to and say she’s fine. Joy answered, in her soft-spoken voice.

 

“I was thinking of you. Glad you called. How are you?”

“I’m not well. It’s like I’m having commitment issues. I can’t get anything done. Days go by and I lack the enthusiasm.”

“You’re depressed. Are you taking anything?”

“You know I don’t take any pills, just my vitamins. I’d rather have a drink.”

“A drink or drinks?”

“Drinks, some, but that’s not the issue. I can’t understand why. It’s hot and humid, uncomfortable, and the political situation is very frightening. It’s like someone, something has turned off the light. I’m late for everything. I’ll be late for my own funeral.”

“The political situation is dismal everywhere. We’re not the only ones. Look at the US and Europe. UK, Brexit, North Korea, the threat of nuclear war.”

“There were days when I was so busy I didn’t have time to stop and read or watch the news. Now, it’s compulsory. Something bad is happening all the time and it’s pulled me into an abyss I can’t see a way out of.”

“Don’t read it or watch it. Stay away for a while. You won’t miss a thing. What will happen will happen. Remember that film, Stranger than Fiction, when the guy was told to sit still, not to do anything? He squatted on his settee until a bulldozer wrecked the front of his flat.”

“Yeah, I remember. Great film. Maybe that’s the answer.”

“Baby steps.”

“Right.”

 

Leila switched off the phone and feeling marginally better, thought tomorrow is a new day before she went to sleep. I’ll be more productive. One step at a time and I’ll do the chores and manage the more meaningful plans…

 

The anticipated solar eclipse over North America reminded her of the total eclipse over Turkey back in 1999 and the subsequent earthquake. A memory which haunted her every time the earth rocked beneath her feet. The after-shocks of the Bodrum earthquake in July heightened her fear. Her favourite astrologer said the eclipse is the beginning of a new age, The Age of Aquarius. All the troubles in the world could be explained by the resistance to let go of the old order, an attachment to the past, a denial of change by some humans. The sun is the light, the moon is the past. Let go and enter the new era.

 

For the next few days, Leila found the incentive to carry out delayed plans from personal to practical, indicating her intent to the universe. She cleaned the house, dyed her hair, sat at the computer writing and editing her work, and felt good about her small achievements.

 

The eclipse took place and she was relieved nothing bad happened. Leila carried on, taking baby steps to realize her plans.

 

Sitting at the computer one evening that week, immersed in her work, she heard a distant noise that magnified. The house shook, the furniture rattled and the walls moved back and forth. She froze. Then, forced herself to rise, grab her handbag and the phone. Staggering to the kitchen, designated as her safe area, she found her pills and stuck them in her bag.

 

She gripped the edge of the table with both hands, waiting for the reverberating roar to end. The lights flickered. The earthquake-proof walls creaked and began to crumble down. Curled into a foetus position under the table, the floor tiles pulsated against her body. Thoughts flashed in her mind, as the flat plunged into darkness. Is this how my life ends? No. This is the end of what used to be and the start of a new beginning. I shall rise.

 

Photo Credit : Eclipse over Jackson, Wyoming

http://www.boredpanda.com/jackson-wy-1138am-8-21-17/

Full Moon

Tags

connection, full moon, highwayman, magic, mystery, the universe

The full moon, last night, or rather, in the early hours of the morning reminded me of this wonderful poem :

 

The Highwayman

By Alfred Noyes

PART ONE

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding—

         Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.

They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.

And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,

         His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.

He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.

His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,

But he loved the landlord’s daughter,

         The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

Then look for me by moonlight,

         Watch for me by moonlight,

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,

But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand

As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

         (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)

Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

PART TWO

He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,

When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,

A red-coat troop came marching—

         Marching—marching—

King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.

But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!

There was death at every window;

         And hell at one dark window;

For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.

They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!

“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—

Look for me by moonlight;

Watch for me by moonlight;

I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!

They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

         Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.

Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.

She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;

For the road lay bare in the moonlight;

         Blank and bare in the moonlight;

And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding—

         Riding—riding—

The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved in the moonlight,

         Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood

Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!

Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear

How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

         The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.

Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;

When they shot him down on the highway,

         Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

.       .       .

And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

A highwayman comes riding—

         Riding—riding—

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

 

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.

He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,

         Bess, the landlord’s daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43187

Dream or Reality?

Tags

air, blue planet, children, civilization, dreams, earth, fire, innocence, reality, the elements, the universe, water

 

 

A dark indigo sky, inhabited by granite clouds, blown by gusting winds and torrential rain. The water cascades down the hills, together with my tears of sorrow and joy. The valley is flooded, the forces of the elements wash everything down to the sea.

 

Stuck behind a tree trunk, I open my eyes and look around. An eerie silence. Behind me, the pine tree covered hills. Before me, the beach and the sea. Everything seems familiar, yet unfamiliar. Nothing manmade is left in sight. Only nature, as it was created. The vast waters resemble a lake, not a single ripple disturbing its surface. As though time has stopped.

 

The clouds have disappeared and a golden ball of light dominates the azure sky. Sunrays touch my skin. I am naked, the way I was born. Vulnerable and lonely. Do I remember that moment? My memories of that instant are not clear, but I feel the solitude and the despair deep down in my heart. The pain of that first breath, a cry in the void. I am frightened in these alien surroundings.

 

I have no belongings now. The memories, the only baggage I am allowed to take with me.

 

Am I the last person on the Blue Planet or the first one in a new world?

 

What about civilization, everything we have built and done? Have they all been washed to the sea? The heritage we wanted to leave behind, the traces of our existence, to make a difference, to be remembered by and recognized. The untamed part of the human ego. As if the universe cares whether we make a difference or not.

 

Progress, heaven and hell at the same time. Creation and destruction. Yet, nothing manmade is more powerful than the forces of nature, orchestrating life and death simultaneously, and recreating life from death, through the eternal cycle.

 

I hear the lullaby of waves. The water starts to move. A warm breeze sweeps across my face. A flock of birds appears in the sky and flies towards the horizon in a perfect V. The perpetual motion begins. The earth beneath me stirs, then rocks and continues, vibrating in sporadic tremors. The breeze turns into a wind, then an angry storm. The branches of trees bend and bow to the ground at the whim of the great force. Lava gushes out from the centre of Gaia, red-hot. It flows like a river down the mountains and across the plains, melting everything on its path, destroying and creating at the same time. I try to hold onto the tree, with all my might, but I’m weak. My fingers give in, and I go with the flow.

 

 

 

******

 

 

Faint voices in the background travel through the air. Then the most delightful sound in the universe. Children’s laughter. I open my eyes and scan my surroundings. I’m stretched out on a deckchair, under a parasol on the golden sand of the beach. My half-read book, lying on my chest.

 

A little boy and a girl are playing at the edge of the sea. They fill their tin buckets with water and empty them, giving each other generous showers. They giggle and yell, the wonder of life vibrant on their faces. No illusions or disillusionments. They have not yet been injected with fear and doubt. I pray for them to hold onto that childhood curiosity forever.

 

Then I remember my dream, that moment stolen from time. Was it a dream or reality? Life, as it seems, is painted before me, reflected in its three dimensional ingredients. Sound, light and depth. Is this an illusion I have created?

 

I pick up my belongings and head towards home. The laughter of children still in my ears.

 

I have no answers.