Friday, February 3, 2012

I am ... writing

"I just can't do this anymore," I heard myself muttering aloud as I battled the wind to walk down several streets to find myself standing outside the synagogue. Waiting. Waiting for what? For Jacob to come out and see me? Recognize all we'd lost? All I let slip away before it had the chance to turn into something more? Jacob. I needed to see him. I had to go in.

I stepped slowly. The stairs were glossy and slippery in the rain. My shoes were not meant for this kind of weather. And my heart was not ready for such a fall. But I went. I walked up the steps and opened the door.


Silence greeted me from the other side.


"Hello?" I whispered, as one tends to do in a place of worship. "Is anyone here?"


The quiet seemed to break with a whisper of a song. Was that a child singing?


A young girl peeked her head from around the corner, giggling. I smiled, waved, maybe. "Hi," I said. She ran off. I looked around, taking small steps as I followed her. "Hello?" My voice halted, still soft, but stronger now. Waiting to be heard. "Is there anyone here?"


Song again broke through the stillness.
The voice rose with a passion. Strength and power. I paused, squinting. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, almost. And then it was gone. Stopped.

A woman came out from around a corner, the little girl hiding behind her skirt pleats. "Can I help you?" she asked, wiping her hands on the towel she held between them. She smiled at me pleasantly. The voice. It was her voice. Of course.


"Is Rabbi Cannon in?" My voice cracked as the words tumbled out. She shook her head.


"He's not, I'm sorry. But can I be of assistance?"


"And you would be ...?" I asked, fully knowing the answer.


"Oh, forgive my manners. I'm Abby. Mrs. Cannon. The Rabbi's wife." She smiled, extending her hand to greet me. I responded with a gentle shake. His wife.


"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cannon." The words caught in my throat. "I'm - uh - terribly sorry to bother you. I thought I would see if he was here. It's no. It's nothing urgent. Another time ..." I trailed off, flinching. I turned, heading to the hallway I had just ventured through. Thanks so much."


"Wait." She followed me, her daughter's eyes watching us the whole time. "You're Clara, aren't you?" She whispered my name. The song gone from her voice. My eyes must have given me away. I smiled gently.


"I am."


Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood

This excerpt picks up immediately after the most recent post I shared about Clara here. Her story flashes back and forth between the present day (sort of - for the character) and her memories from many years ago. We are back in the present. Try to stay with me, it's definitely rough to do without the surrounding sections. The Write on Edge prompt this week was about music, more specifically "Show us how your character reacts to a piece of music". I hope to have done that here. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

14 comments:

Jackie said...

The first thought that came to mind was 'uh oh'. But then I saw that it was part of a larger story line and thought I should probably read more before I am an assumption.

Although, you can sense some tension between the two of them for sure.

Kristy said...

I found it very intriguing!

My favorite lines:

My shoes were not meant for this kind of weather. And my heart was not ready for such a fall.

theliteraryphoenix said...

I'm with Jackie - I was nervous at first for her, but the sub-text about a greater storyline was reassuring.

When I started reading, I thought perhaps that it was a ghost, or something equally eerie. One way or the other, it set a beautiful, chilling mood.

Jen Has A Pen said...

I love reading what people do with fiction! I'm not/never have been/hope to be someday brave enough to try it out.

One of the parts that stuck out to me most was her shoes being slippery. I like those sorts of details. They are unexpected, seemingly frivalous, but TOTALLY vital to my being able to feel a part of the story.

Great job!!!

Also, I am excited about our new forming friendship based on the adoration of NYC! I welcome your suggestions and expertise!

idiosyncraticeye said...

I liked it, from the beginning it felt like the middle of something and your ending definitely confirmed that. There was lots of great details which really built the mood. Keep sharing! :)

Sara said...

You definitely made me want to read more. I went back and read the other two stories:~)

I liked the mystery of these stories. Old loves, but so familiar. I liked how you used music as a way to engage your reader in the meeting of these characters. Clara thinking what a beautiful voice, realizing it's Jacob wife and then the wife's realization and "The song gone from her voice."

It's makes me to know more...

Well done and good use of the prompt.

Carrie said...

I love the build up of tension. I'm happy to hear this is part of a larger work, i want to read more.

Small critique. The first line is a but long and unwieldy. I had to read it over a few times before I understood what you were saying.

Barbara @ de rebus, via WoE said...

Loving it!!!

Your characters are very engaging... can't wait to find out what happens next.

:)

Liz @ A Nut in a Nutshell said...

Whoa. YOU can write. This is really a fabulous sequence of the story.

Jess said...

You have an amazing talent when it comes to dialogue...and now I need you to write.faster. :-)

Leslie Block said...

Girl, I love it, so enjoy coming and reading your blog , inspires me more to be creative with mine. Keep up the fabulous work

Sorta Southern Single Mom said...

I like the line "The song was gone from her voice."

Seems like a love lost... and the wife knows... I'm intrigued. Can't wait to read more!

Elisa @ Globetrotting in Heels said...

OMG babe, this is amazing. Gold. I want to know everything! If this was already a book, I would run out and buy it. Or even better, download it on my Kindle and enjoy it right away.

I am going to go back and make sure I have missed absolutely nothing about Clara's story, 'cause this is too good!

Nancy C said...

The quiet seemed to break with a whisper of a song. Was that a child singing?

I love this line.

I love the details of the wet stone, the still of the temple, and like others have mentioned, the tension within.

You're good, my friend.

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