Echoes of a Future Forsaken
By Emily Jennings
Max left in 'Departure' with Isabel & Tess, who didn't kill Alex. 20 years later & the world has changed. Antar & Earth have formed an alliance & 'aliens' are a thing of faerie tales. Can Max & Liz truly forsake their love now that the ultimate boundary has been diminished?
Author's note: Hi! This is really only going to be a short story (three or four chapters at best) in a desperate attempt to overcome my sever writers block so I can continue working on Before. Tell what you think. x
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Her footsteps echoed in the empty room, the heel of her elegant stilettos leaving small circular imprints in the layer of dust which had nestled into the wooden floorboards .She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes when she reached the veranda doors, and leaned against the railing of the wrap- around porch, sheltered away from the gentle rain that fell.
She let the silken shawl that covered her shoulders drop carelessly to the ground and lie discarded on the floor, placing fine, manicured fingers on the rough surface of the untreated wood of the banister-top.
The wind howled and sniped at lose strands of her rich, chocolate colour hair as was its nature this close to the coast, but to her it was a caressing breeze that offered secret promises and whispered to her soul.
Her eyes snapped open in alarm. No! Block them out! Ignore the promises, brush away the whispers! They are not for you; it is not your destiny!
She sighed and attempted to relax her suddenly tense shoulders. Her eyes turned weary and unfathomable. She had the eyes of an old soul They always told her. When she heard that she always struggled to keep the bitterness out of her laugh. They always seemed politely puzzled, but of course They would, They simply would never be able to comprehend the sheer irony.
She gazed longingly out at the turbulent ocean and watched the waves ebb and flow and foam on the sand. She imagined being a part of that current and travelling around the earth with the single minded aim of simply being. What must that be like? To simply be, oblivious, except to the pull of the Moon?
She did not know, nor would she ever know.
She ran her tongue against her bottom lip and tasted the salt in the air; she tasted the salt and wished that she could stay on the porch forever, stay and live within the echoes of the house.
She knew that to others this house seemed outdated and unsafe. Its windswept wooden structure balanced precariously on equally windswept stilts, in a vague attempt to protect it from the relentless ocean.
She knew differently.
She could feel the sturdy foundations beneath her, felt their energy and power and knew that this windswept little home would be there for many years to come, perhaps even after she was gone.
She sighed at her torturous reflections and turned back into the veranda doors. She could see clearly the path that she had taken across the room, the fresh shoe prints glistening tellingly against the veil of dust. It would seem an odd path to take across such a large room.
She thought of how it would have looked to the casual observer. A petite brunette woman in an elegant black evening gown and stilettos walking deliberately close to the wall, with her eyes diverted to her feet, carefully avoiding the sight of the venerable Grande piano at the room's centre, although she could feel its presence like her own heartbeat.
She sighed and felt the beginnings of a headache approaching.
Now she looked purposefully at the piano and felt the familiar ache she always felt when she came to this room. Her fingers tingled and she moved her hand involuntarily in the direction of the instrument. She hesitated for a moment only before she moved further into the room and stood by the piano. She had known it would come to this.
She ran her fingers along the top and moved around to sit on the playing stool. Each hand lay limply on a respective thigh until her fingers itched painfully. She hovered her right hand over the keys but had to dare herself before she touched the keys.
Her mind sing-songed scornfully over the words: I dare you, I dare you, and her index finger pushed tentatively at the cool ivory key, reverberating middle-c around the room. She gasped and stood up abruptly, knocking the stool from beneath her with a hard thud.
Her vision spotted with odd yellow blots, floating in and out of her eyesight and suddenly her breathing was shallow. Her hands rose up and touched her face, and felt its sudden clamminess.
Odd. A rational part of her brain mused, How you can feel both hot and cold at the same time, and both completely present and detached from your body all at once.
She spun round towards the exit but her movements were too fast and her brain to slow. She felt woozy and physically ill, her head throbbed maliciously and her limbs felt deadweight. Help!
She was outside, had she walked? She knew she had and she knew she couldn't any longer.
Her legs buckled beneath her and she fell ungraciously to the ground, bury her fingers deep into the sand, as though to anchor herself. She took no heed of what the damp, gritty substance do to her dress, instead she concerned herself with throwing up the entire contents of her stomach.
She felt better. Light headed and aching but now she felt a little better.
She sat on the steps of the house and leaned her head back. The rain had settled to a refreshing drizzle and she breathed the air in gratefully.
The images had come so hard and fast, their impact acting like a physical force.
He had been their, in that house, and he had played middle-c.
Liz Parker allowed the tears to slide down her face. She did not understand. How could he possibly have been there? This house meant nothing to him. Just an old holiday home, abandoned, but for the piano. Why would her come? Unless ... he knew.
But that was impossible. He couldn't know. No one could. Except her. So therefore he could not have been there.
Except she knew he had. Max Evans, King Zan, or whatever else he was now called, had been there, in that room, and he had played middle-c.
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T.B.C.
Please read & review. x