Saturday, April 25, 2015

Sneak Peek: The Pretty Wings Chronicles, Book 2 - Prologue (unedited version)

I knew I would love her. Even my thirteen year old heart detected the skip in beat, when I saw her that first time.  I still can’t pinpoint the exact cause of the skip.

Maybe it was the way she walked on the balls of her feet with a rhythm and sway that made me imagine at any moment she would launch into dance. The grace and flow of her movements creating beats in my head, and making my hands itch to write a new melody, just to see her dance to it.

Maybe it was her smile. No . . . not just her smile alone; it was her smile paired with a look of confidence as she walked down Main Street, where everyone present stopped what they were doing to openly gape at her. She didn’t even appear to notice their glares, although it was impossible to miss them. Instead she added extra pep in her step, a subtle middle finger to the disdain filled faces following her every movement.
Maybe it was the way she gripped her sister’s hand with one of her own while her other arm draped protectively around the smaller version of herself’s shoulder.
Maybe, through all the attention and stares she ignored, my heart skipped a beat because it was my stare she acknowledged.
Looking into those resilient green eyes, I saw it all: That melodic walk of hers falter; her smile fade slowly as her mouth fell slightly open; the grip relax on her sister’s shoulder.
The longing I felt for her was reflected back at me through her eyes. Love at first sight, didn’t seem like such a crazy notion to me now. There is no question, no doubt, no misinterpretation; I always knew I would love her.
I knew she was different. Maybe it was the way she twirled and leaped, her arms and body swaying to a beat, yet there was no music to be heard. I thought I was the only one who walked through life with a soundtrack blaring in my head, as a backdrop to my thoughts and actions. I carried a notepad with me everywhere to jot down the endless flow of lyrics that came to me. She didn’t need a notepad. She created entire symphonies in her mind, but her body translated it into dance.
Maybe it was her ever changing mahogany tresses. I’d never seen or felt hair like hers before. I loved running my fingers through it. One day they were a mass of unruly, springy curls; standing out in every direction, demanding to be noticed. If you were lucky enough to touch them you’d find they were textured and soft. The next day her long locks would be straightened, smooth and silky and you’d wonder if you imagined the massive crown the day before. One day braids . . . one day twists. Always something new to discover.
Maybe it was in the way we were able to complete each other’s sentences. She knew me in a way no one else took the time to. She valued my thoughts, encouraged my dreams . . . we were artistic soul mates. I was the musician she was the dancer. Always completing each other.
            Maybe it was her ability to see the positive, when everything around us was negative. She found the treasure hidden in the trash, the love underneath every hateful word.
            Maybe she was different because I was hers and she was mine.
I knew I would lose her. Loving her wasn’t an option or a choice. Loving her was embedded deep inside of me . . . awakened by her presence. My love for her came as natural to me as breathing. One soul existing in two separate bodies that became whole again when our eyes connected.  My love for her is omnipresent, all consuming, and life affirming.
As much as I felt the love . . . I felt the loss just as deeply. It crept up on us daily. It was inevitable. Even the brightest light will fade one day. Nothing this beautiful lasts forever.
At thirteen I found my soul mate.
Five years, six months, three weeks, twelve hours.
That was the amount of time my heart was full.
That was the amount of time I lived a dream.
That was the amount of time I experienced what it was like to truly love and be loved.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. I finally understood why Mrs. Hildebrand made us read that Dickens book. That quote summed up my life.
Five years, six months, three weeks, twelve hours.
During this time people I knew my entire life became strangers to me.
During this time a place I was born and raised in became foreign.
During this time I learned the true meaning of hate.
“Protecting and guiding humans on earth” . . . that is a defining characteristic of an
angel. She did that for me and everyone around her. At eighteen my life was irreversibly altered. God took my figurative angel and turned her into one literally.
Five years, six months, three weeks, twelve hours. I’d give you the minutes and even down to the seconds if I could, but I wasn’t there when my heart stopped beating.
She was my heart.
I’m certain time stopped when my heart skipped a beat that second time. Even hundreds of miles away I knew. But who really cares about time? Counting our time together no longer mattered. It never did, to anyone except me. The music in my head stopped playing, but why would it continue? She would never dance for me again.
Everything ended when she did.
My heart skipped a beat when I fell in love with her. It skipped again . . . the same night our soul was severed.

Copyright © 2015 by A.F. Diamond
All rights reserved



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