Teal Haviland's Blog - Posts Tagged "the-reaping-chronicles"
"Hi," I say as I try to calm my overly curious mind, "I'm Teal."
“It’s nice to formally meet you, Teal. I’m Gabrielle . . . but you already know that.”
“Of course. I did create you, after all,” I respond with a smile full of pride I think only an author can understand when sitting across from a character they birthed. Especially when that creation of fiction led to a birth of a different kind in my own life.
This interview between author and character had not been planned. It came up suddenly when Gabrielle decided she wanted to know how she came to be, and thought the future readers of her story would also want to know. At first I wasn't sure about the idea, but now, as the Angel of Karma stands in front of me, I am glad for the opportunity.
As we settle in our chairs, my desk separating us, I realize it‘s hard to dissect the expression of the angel sitting across from me. Nothing is readable in her eyes or demeanor. It makes me wonder what is going on in her mind, though not knowing and having the interview told through my point of view is something I agreed to when Gabrielle asked to do this.
An open window behind me brings in crisp morning air. The telling of fall’s approach is being spoken by the breeze, but its chill is slowly warmed by a sun that's grown lazy after the work of summer. Leaves are less green as the reds, yellows, purples, and oranges spread across Tennessee, as if the colors are an army marching painfully slow toward a war they don’t want to fight. It’s mid October 2012, my favorite time of year, and I am less than four months from the projected publication date for Inception, the first book in the story of The Reaping Chronicles — Gabrielle’s story , and a story that I never knew was inside me until almost two years ago.
“So,” I begin with what I’m sure is a tone of uncertainty since I am still trying to decipher what might be going on in Gabrielle’s mind, “what would you like to know?”
“Well, let’s start with the question that is tops in my mind. How did you come up with the idea for me, the Angel of Karma?”
I smile again, a bit more subdued. The way she came about was one of the most enlightening times of my life and one of the saddest. She was born from pain and anger and frustration and an extreme sense of a terrible injustice that was being done in the life of someone I cared about very much. But, she also saved me . . . literally.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath before I begin, filling my lungs with air and my body with courage to tell my tale. I don’t like the spotlight . . . never have. But, when it comes to my writing I have discovered I am willing to step into it. I love what I am doing that much. “I have always been a strong believer in you reap what you sow. I have lived my life trying very hard to do what’s right. I sometimes fail, sometimes miserably, but I try. And I am a very spiritual person. During the year prior to coming up with you and the story of The Reaping Chronicles, however, I went through some horrible circumstances and there was a person who was getting away with heinous things, who had gotten away with many others over the years that I also knew about. I found myself questioning my beliefs. It tested my spirituality to an extreme, and I began to grow angry and bitter. That’s something that is never good for anyone, but particularly for me because I can be terribly vindictive and vengeful. It’s a side of me that I combat daily and it was beginning to win the war being waged inside me more every day.” I pause and take a deep breath, wondering if I am telling too much and considering how I will be judged for telling on that side of me. It’s a side I know most people have, but most also try to keep it hidden away behind facades. This is me, though. This is my story.
“So,” I continue, “during this internal struggle, the dialogue I was having on a daily basis with God seemed to be growing more adversarial by the minute, and I found myself wishing I was in charge of giving out karma — good and bad — so I could make sure this person got exactly what they deserved. That made me wonder why karma couldn't be the charge of one individual, which led to me thinking about whom, in my mind, should be in charge of it. That all led to me deciding it should be an angel that was given the task, the Angel of Karma. A specific job assigned to a specific angel — you.”
Her mouth pushes up her cheeks as she smiles, but I see sadness behind the expression. I wonder how the story I have created has affected her . . . I wonder what she thinks of me.
“What made you want to create a story around the idea?”
“That’s easy. I had just started writing fiction again after not writing anything except for poetry for twenty-three years. I wrote very short children’s stories when I was a teen — animals talking to animals . . . that sort of thing — but also stopped as a teen. In the month prior to coming up with the idea that turned into you and The Reaping Chronicles, I wrote two short stories for challenges given by my writers group. I was shocked and thrilled that not only could I still write fiction — though it wasn't necessarily great fiction — but that I was able to write in genres I had never attempted. The first was a scary story for Halloween, and the second was speculative fiction. After that I decided to try a book — something I had always wanted to do — and had been trying to come up with an idea. The Angel of Karma was perfect.”
“Why did you stop? Writing fiction, I mean.”
I laugh a bit at this. The reason is lame, and I know it.
“I stopped because I was praised for it. I stopped doing everything I was given praise for in my teens — my horseback riding, photography, and my writing.”
“But you continued to write poetry.”
“I didn't share my poetry with anyone until I was in my late twenties, so I never received praise for it in my teens. Plus,” I add with a smile, “I don’t think my poetry is particularly good. I write it for myself. It’s not correct in form or style. It’s a way I get my feelings and thoughts out. I really don’t care if anyone likes it because I write it specifically for me. I think I would have continued to write it, regardless. Stories are different for me. I want people to like them.”
Gabrielle laughs with a sarcastic edge at that, and I realize it makes no sense. "Why, then, did you stop writing the fiction that you do care about, that others praised you for? People liked it.”
I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I look out the window of my home office at the trees as they toss in the wind, noting how much the leaves seem to change in the short hours between sunset and sunrise, as I ponder her question. I have wondered the same thing since I first walked away from my writing and photography and horseback riding — all of my passions — when I was almost seventeen. I have wondered, and have continued wondering because I have never come up with the reason that made sense to me.
I look back at her as she shifts in her chair and I smile a hint of a smile.
“I honestly don’t know how to answer that question.”
The response raises one brow above her big green eyes.
“I know it doesn't make sense, and I guess that’s why I don’t know how to answer it. I’m just glad I started to write again. It’s changed my life . . . it saved me.”
She seems to understand, even without explanation, and I wonder if she knows what I mean. After all, she was created from my mind. The same mind that was dealing with that internal war, the same one that found solace from the thoughts of revenge I was having that were consuming me like it was some starving carnivorous beast and I was the last meal it would ever eat. She, and The Reaping Chronicles, rescued me from those dark, nefarious places in my mind.
“So, I guess you can thank something bad for setting you on the path that led to something you consider so good.”
“Yes, I can. And I think that’s how it usually works if we are open to the purpose of times like that. I feel, now, like I know exactly why things worked out as they did, and it was for the best.”
“You don’t want revenge anymore?”
“I would say I don’t want to personally take revenge, but I would be happy to know karma had paid a visit to those people.”
“Do you think I will?”
“I fully believe that, yes . . . they will pay the price. What goes around comes around. I just might not have the front row seat and bucket of popcorn I desire.”
Gabrielle is quiet for a moment, her eyes searching me, and I think about how I have written how her gaze made Lucas feel as I wrote intense scenes with them — the same gaze I am now under. The irony causes goosebumps to rise on my skin and I try to casually rub them away.
“Is there anything else you want to know, Gabrielle?”
She still stares.
Studies.
'Boy . . . she really is an intimidating creature,' I think, and the impression she is leaving on me is deep, because I know I'm not easily intimidated. Her lips part slightly in a smile as if she knows what I am thinking.
'Does she know?' And that thought causes the bumps on my arms to come back.
“Why did you write so many things in Inception that would break my heart?”
“Wow,” is all I say for a moment.
As we sit there, both of us waiting on my response, I try to figure out how to answer without sounding heartless. I realize I can’t.
“Because people relate to heartbreak.”
“So,” she continues, and I think I note a bit of venom slipping into her tone, “why don’t you share how you have been betrayed . . . how your heart has been broken. We both know it comes from personal experience.” She pauses and her gaze seems to turn into a glare for a fraction of a second. It is swift, but was definitely there. “And is something you have dealt with very recently and in deeper ways than ever before.”
My heartbeat suddenly ratchets as I realize that, in fact, she is very aware of me — my thoughts, my emotions, my experiences . . . my life. More so than I was ready to believe. I am uncomfortable with this interview, now, but my shock at her shift quickly turns into reserved anger.
“Gabrielle, I think this is enough for today. Maybe, at another time, we can continue this interview. As for now, however, I have to get back to writing your story and the story of your friends and enemies.”
I stand, and she mimics my movement.
Without another word between us, she disappears in flowing, smoky white wisps.
But . . . I swear her eyes are the last to fade . . . and they are shooting daggers at me.
I don’t know what I expected from this interview, and I don’t know if I will ever let her do another one. But I can say that I was not expecting her to become so adversarial. I also find, while standing in my office in the moments after she left, that my anger easily softens. She is, after all, subject to my whims. She doesn't know how her story is going to end, yet, because I haven’t written it to its end. She only knows the content of the first book. I imagine she must not trust me. How can she? And, if I were her, I would be angry at me, too.
She doesn't have any idea what I have in store for her, what trials and triumphs and failures I have in mind, obstacles I’ll put in her way, who and what she will lose or gain — how many more times I will have someone betray her or in what ways I will break her heart even more than she already knows I have.
I am her creator, her ruler.
And, in many ways . . . I am her Angel of Karma.
©2012 Teal Haviland
“Of course. I did create you, after all,” I respond with a smile full of pride I think only an author can understand when sitting across from a character they birthed. Especially when that creation of fiction led to a birth of a different kind in my own life.
This interview between author and character had not been planned. It came up suddenly when Gabrielle decided she wanted to know how she came to be, and thought the future readers of her story would also want to know. At first I wasn't sure about the idea, but now, as the Angel of Karma stands in front of me, I am glad for the opportunity.
As we settle in our chairs, my desk separating us, I realize it‘s hard to dissect the expression of the angel sitting across from me. Nothing is readable in her eyes or demeanor. It makes me wonder what is going on in her mind, though not knowing and having the interview told through my point of view is something I agreed to when Gabrielle asked to do this.
An open window behind me brings in crisp morning air. The telling of fall’s approach is being spoken by the breeze, but its chill is slowly warmed by a sun that's grown lazy after the work of summer. Leaves are less green as the reds, yellows, purples, and oranges spread across Tennessee, as if the colors are an army marching painfully slow toward a war they don’t want to fight. It’s mid October 2012, my favorite time of year, and I am less than four months from the projected publication date for Inception, the first book in the story of The Reaping Chronicles — Gabrielle’s story , and a story that I never knew was inside me until almost two years ago.
“So,” I begin with what I’m sure is a tone of uncertainty since I am still trying to decipher what might be going on in Gabrielle’s mind, “what would you like to know?”
“Well, let’s start with the question that is tops in my mind. How did you come up with the idea for me, the Angel of Karma?”
I smile again, a bit more subdued. The way she came about was one of the most enlightening times of my life and one of the saddest. She was born from pain and anger and frustration and an extreme sense of a terrible injustice that was being done in the life of someone I cared about very much. But, she also saved me . . . literally.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath before I begin, filling my lungs with air and my body with courage to tell my tale. I don’t like the spotlight . . . never have. But, when it comes to my writing I have discovered I am willing to step into it. I love what I am doing that much. “I have always been a strong believer in you reap what you sow. I have lived my life trying very hard to do what’s right. I sometimes fail, sometimes miserably, but I try. And I am a very spiritual person. During the year prior to coming up with you and the story of The Reaping Chronicles, however, I went through some horrible circumstances and there was a person who was getting away with heinous things, who had gotten away with many others over the years that I also knew about. I found myself questioning my beliefs. It tested my spirituality to an extreme, and I began to grow angry and bitter. That’s something that is never good for anyone, but particularly for me because I can be terribly vindictive and vengeful. It’s a side of me that I combat daily and it was beginning to win the war being waged inside me more every day.” I pause and take a deep breath, wondering if I am telling too much and considering how I will be judged for telling on that side of me. It’s a side I know most people have, but most also try to keep it hidden away behind facades. This is me, though. This is my story.
“So,” I continue, “during this internal struggle, the dialogue I was having on a daily basis with God seemed to be growing more adversarial by the minute, and I found myself wishing I was in charge of giving out karma — good and bad — so I could make sure this person got exactly what they deserved. That made me wonder why karma couldn't be the charge of one individual, which led to me thinking about whom, in my mind, should be in charge of it. That all led to me deciding it should be an angel that was given the task, the Angel of Karma. A specific job assigned to a specific angel — you.”
Her mouth pushes up her cheeks as she smiles, but I see sadness behind the expression. I wonder how the story I have created has affected her . . . I wonder what she thinks of me.
“What made you want to create a story around the idea?”
“That’s easy. I had just started writing fiction again after not writing anything except for poetry for twenty-three years. I wrote very short children’s stories when I was a teen — animals talking to animals . . . that sort of thing — but also stopped as a teen. In the month prior to coming up with the idea that turned into you and The Reaping Chronicles, I wrote two short stories for challenges given by my writers group. I was shocked and thrilled that not only could I still write fiction — though it wasn't necessarily great fiction — but that I was able to write in genres I had never attempted. The first was a scary story for Halloween, and the second was speculative fiction. After that I decided to try a book — something I had always wanted to do — and had been trying to come up with an idea. The Angel of Karma was perfect.”
“Why did you stop? Writing fiction, I mean.”
I laugh a bit at this. The reason is lame, and I know it.
“I stopped because I was praised for it. I stopped doing everything I was given praise for in my teens — my horseback riding, photography, and my writing.”
“But you continued to write poetry.”
“I didn't share my poetry with anyone until I was in my late twenties, so I never received praise for it in my teens. Plus,” I add with a smile, “I don’t think my poetry is particularly good. I write it for myself. It’s not correct in form or style. It’s a way I get my feelings and thoughts out. I really don’t care if anyone likes it because I write it specifically for me. I think I would have continued to write it, regardless. Stories are different for me. I want people to like them.”
Gabrielle laughs with a sarcastic edge at that, and I realize it makes no sense. "Why, then, did you stop writing the fiction that you do care about, that others praised you for? People liked it.”
I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I look out the window of my home office at the trees as they toss in the wind, noting how much the leaves seem to change in the short hours between sunset and sunrise, as I ponder her question. I have wondered the same thing since I first walked away from my writing and photography and horseback riding — all of my passions — when I was almost seventeen. I have wondered, and have continued wondering because I have never come up with the reason that made sense to me.
I look back at her as she shifts in her chair and I smile a hint of a smile.
“I honestly don’t know how to answer that question.”
The response raises one brow above her big green eyes.
“I know it doesn't make sense, and I guess that’s why I don’t know how to answer it. I’m just glad I started to write again. It’s changed my life . . . it saved me.”
She seems to understand, even without explanation, and I wonder if she knows what I mean. After all, she was created from my mind. The same mind that was dealing with that internal war, the same one that found solace from the thoughts of revenge I was having that were consuming me like it was some starving carnivorous beast and I was the last meal it would ever eat. She, and The Reaping Chronicles, rescued me from those dark, nefarious places in my mind.
“So, I guess you can thank something bad for setting you on the path that led to something you consider so good.”
“Yes, I can. And I think that’s how it usually works if we are open to the purpose of times like that. I feel, now, like I know exactly why things worked out as they did, and it was for the best.”
“You don’t want revenge anymore?”
“I would say I don’t want to personally take revenge, but I would be happy to know karma had paid a visit to those people.”
“Do you think I will?”
“I fully believe that, yes . . . they will pay the price. What goes around comes around. I just might not have the front row seat and bucket of popcorn I desire.”
Gabrielle is quiet for a moment, her eyes searching me, and I think about how I have written how her gaze made Lucas feel as I wrote intense scenes with them — the same gaze I am now under. The irony causes goosebumps to rise on my skin and I try to casually rub them away.
“Is there anything else you want to know, Gabrielle?”
She still stares.
Studies.
'Boy . . . she really is an intimidating creature,' I think, and the impression she is leaving on me is deep, because I know I'm not easily intimidated. Her lips part slightly in a smile as if she knows what I am thinking.
'Does she know?' And that thought causes the bumps on my arms to come back.
“Why did you write so many things in Inception that would break my heart?”
“Wow,” is all I say for a moment.
As we sit there, both of us waiting on my response, I try to figure out how to answer without sounding heartless. I realize I can’t.
“Because people relate to heartbreak.”
“So,” she continues, and I think I note a bit of venom slipping into her tone, “why don’t you share how you have been betrayed . . . how your heart has been broken. We both know it comes from personal experience.” She pauses and her gaze seems to turn into a glare for a fraction of a second. It is swift, but was definitely there. “And is something you have dealt with very recently and in deeper ways than ever before.”
My heartbeat suddenly ratchets as I realize that, in fact, she is very aware of me — my thoughts, my emotions, my experiences . . . my life. More so than I was ready to believe. I am uncomfortable with this interview, now, but my shock at her shift quickly turns into reserved anger.
“Gabrielle, I think this is enough for today. Maybe, at another time, we can continue this interview. As for now, however, I have to get back to writing your story and the story of your friends and enemies.”
I stand, and she mimics my movement.
Without another word between us, she disappears in flowing, smoky white wisps.
But . . . I swear her eyes are the last to fade . . . and they are shooting daggers at me.
I don’t know what I expected from this interview, and I don’t know if I will ever let her do another one. But I can say that I was not expecting her to become so adversarial. I also find, while standing in my office in the moments after she left, that my anger easily softens. She is, after all, subject to my whims. She doesn't know how her story is going to end, yet, because I haven’t written it to its end. She only knows the content of the first book. I imagine she must not trust me. How can she? And, if I were her, I would be angry at me, too.
She doesn't have any idea what I have in store for her, what trials and triumphs and failures I have in mind, obstacles I’ll put in her way, who and what she will lose or gain — how many more times I will have someone betray her or in what ways I will break her heart even more than she already knows I have.
I am her creator, her ruler.
And, in many ways . . . I am her Angel of Karma.
©2012 Teal Haviland
Gabrielle's Incarnation Scene
The Reaping Chronicles ~ Inception
***
Gabrielle’s Incarnation Scene
A bright flash of lightning and crack of thunder sent the few remaining humans scrambling to gather their belongings from the beach as they tried to beat the downpour. Some people had been so eager to get out of the storm’s path — one that seemed particularly angry — that they abandoned some of their things.
Gabrielle scanned the various discarded items — bottles of lotion, trash, scattered towels, a beach ball, and an umbrella that was now tumbling away as if it was trying to outrun the wind. Gabrielle mused that the gusts were trying to push the people, and even her, out of the way and to safety. The storm was of no concern to her. Nothing that belonged in the human world could harm her. It was the beings who didn't belong among humans who could make her wary, but there were few of those who caused her to ponder them or their threat, either.
Gabrielle turned her attention away from the umbrella's dance into the distance, and back in the direction of the water in front of her. The intensity of the surging waves was growing steadily, and she stood with her feet just within reach of the fingers of water. They seemed to stretch to tickle her toes; enticing her with each break of waves against the sand to come in and play for a while. The sun that had given its warmth throughout the day was setting just ahead of the storm, and it reflected against the liquid horizon of the Gulf of Mexico. The fiery sky caused shades of red, orange, and yellow to mingle on the surface of its stirring waters, while the winds ahead of the storm roused the fabric of her long black dress, making it to whip her legs as if trying to urge her to hurry — to move on and take shelter before the storm unleashed its rage.
As terrible as this storm threatened to be, this wasn’t the one that she was concerned with. It wasn't a storm of rain and wind and lightning that she was here to outwit — or that she would, in fact, be in danger of losing her life because of. Gabrielle closed her eyes and tried to push the thoughts out of her mind with other things.
The new thoughts that rushed in to replace them were no better, and she found the calm she had found in her surroundings earlier had waned, replaced by a familiar ache as her mind wandered to memories of Javan. She had been lonely since he'd fallen, and she'd been on this beach many years ago. Only that day, she hadn't been enjoying it alone . . . she had been with him.
It was a time before humans settled the now overpopulated Florida coastline. A time before she lost the only love in Heaven she could ever have, when she didn't have the empty space inside her she did now that is constant, and as loud to her, as it is silent to others. Many times she'd heard a human say, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.’ She’d argue that if it was the kind of love one angel had for another of their kind that it’s better to have simply never loved. An angel who has lost their companion will forever grieve them as if it just happened, without any chance of having another in their life to ease the sorrow. It didn’t make a difference if that loss was due to death, or if they had been cast out of the eternal home, the result was the same.
This visit to the beach was under vastly different circumstances. Not only was she alone and Javan now one of the Fallen, she was on a mission.
She closed her eyes, sensing the last warmth the sun’s rays would offer her face and bare arms on this day.
'Now is not the time for regrets.'
She pushed the sadness away, focusing instead on the Earthly sounds of seagulls calling to each other in the distance, and palm fronds rubbing against their neighbors as they tossed in the wind. When she opened her eyes, the sun was on the cusp of slipping away for another day, and she wished it would take the memories of Javan and her love for him with it, knowing it was a wish lost to being a possibility even as she made it. The light the sun had cast, that had lent itself to creating the vibrant colors she'd seen moments before, was now conceding to the dark blues and purples of dusk that appeared to be chasing the light into the world of gloom and void. There was still just enough light, though to make her eyes glint with the green of emeralds, and cause her long waves of dark hair to shine back against the ensuing shadows.
A bolt of lightning continuing to warn of the storm caught her attention, drawing it in the direction of not only it, but also a human who had been slow in leaving the openness of the beach where. The length of his stride told that he was aware of his vulnerability to the strands of electricity that seemed to now be ripping the sky apart almost constantly. Gabrielle's body tensed slightly as the man, in his mid twenties, began jogging toward her and smiled — looking at her a little longer than she was comfortable with.
'Am I doing a good job of looking normal?'
She felt a pang of worry grip her stomach as she wondered whether or not she was going to fit in here at all, or stand out like she did in her eternal home. The reality of being so different from her brethren was completely inescapable in Heaven, and she caught herself hoping on many occasions that things would be easier for her on Earth.
'Please just let me fit in . . . at least here.'
Another flash and crack of thunder made the man jump, pulling his hands quickly up to his ears to protect them from the sound that had already made its impact. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at the storm and then back at Gabrielle.
“That storm's going to be a real nasty one,” the man said as if he truly was concerned about her safety, a slight scowl reinforced the worry in his tone.
She just smiled and nodded. His concern, though kind, was wholly misplaced. But, he would have no idea of that — at least she hoped he wouldn’t suspect.
She looked around to see if she was drawing any other attention, but there really wasn’t anyone left who would wonder about her — they’d heeded nature’s threats. Even if they did notice the seventeen year-old standing at the water’s edge, she decided they probably wouldn’t take enough time to realize she was, somehow, different.
'They don’t notice the fantastical side of their world at all.'
The thought both relieved and disturbed her.
Gabrielle turned her attention back to the sunset as she once again tried to distract herself from her thoughts and recalled her day.
She’d spent the day under a much different sky, one full of sunlight and cotton clouds, as she enjoyed the added sensations and experiences her human senses allowed — senses she had no need of in her true form. She enjoyed being incarnated this time more than any other time before. It was the first time she’d been on Earth for more than a few minutes without drawing the unwanted, and dangerous, attention of every demon within a hundred miles. All thanks to the Aegis Veil.
While spending part of the day walking slowly in and out of the shops along the road running parallel to the beach, enjoying the protection the veil offered, she discovered the blissful taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She loved the way the cold slipped down her throat, but still didn't understand the reason it caused her to shiver and get little raised bumps on her tan skin that, to her relief, went away as quickly as they appeared. Regardless of why it happened, it was a nice change from the heat of day, and she looked forward to having another scoop before she made her way to her new home. She was glad she took the time to get familiar with her body before she began to meet the people who would become her neighbors — maybe even her friends.
The task ahead was going to be difficult. Humans weren't as easy for her to persuade anymore. If they were, there would be no reason to have come to Earth to live in a human body, at all.
She hoped she was doing the right thing, but being here was the only option she could think of to gain the insight she desperately needed, and she had fought relentlessly for this. It was vital for her to learn what compelled people to do the things they do, and she was relieved when her superior, Amaziah, told her it had been decided she could take on this task, even if it was for a shorter period of time than she wanted — even if it put her own life in danger.
It made little difference if she was one of the most powerful angels Yahuwah ever created if she couldn’t figure out how to make humans believe and have faith again. So many were relying on her success — from her home, as well as here on Earth. The battle that had been waged between Light and Darkness for thousands of years was being lost by her and her brethren. It was beginning to slip through their fingers at an astonishing rate. So fast, Gabrielle was concerned the decision to live here was one made too late.
This was all she could do, though.
This, and continuing to do her job making sure people receive the appropriate rewards, or punishments, for what they choose to do. Free will is a wonderful gift, but so many use theirs without a conscience now — and humanity’s lack of conscience was the biggest obstacle to winning the war.
Gabrielle breathed the warm, moist, sea air into her lungs, stretching them as far as she could and exhaled slowly. She needed to clear her mind of her concerns.
'Just concentrate on your goal.'
It was difficult to ease her tension, though. Her job had been affecting her mood more harshly every day. As much as she loved her position as the Angel of Karma, she’d like to not feel the hostility she now found herself experiencing most days — a nasty repercussion of having to deal with so much bad karma. Handing out a little more good karma compared to bad, instead of the other way around, would go a long way in making her less edgy.
Closing her eyes, she tried to only listen to the waves that were coming in at a progressively more rapid pace as the angry clouds grew closer.
'Soon, there won't be more than a heartbeat of time between each break of waves.'
Her focus on the sounds wasn't what soothed her troubled thoughts, though; it was the image of someone she'd seen on many occasions. She found she loved seeing his face pass into her mind’s eye whenever she had the vision of him lately. She loved it, and was frightened that she loved it at the same time. She didn’t know who he was — the young man with the blue eyes she wanted to retreat into — but, she did know the feelings she seemed to be having for this human were completely forbidden, and something she couldn’t act upon.
'I can’t have the love of a human any more than I can have it from any angel other than Javan and, unless I join the Fallen . . . and that will never happen.'
The human was hers, though. At least his image and the way it made her feel and no one knew it but her. Not even Amaziah — especially not Amaziah. He would be furious with her if he knew, and she didn’t need to give him another reason why she shouldn’t be doing this — he'd accumulated plenty of those. She was going to keep the vision of him to herself as long as she could and one day, he would end up in front of her in her reality instead of only in the recurring image. She would wait for that day. And, at least for now, he was hers and only hers.
'My little secret.'
All too soon, the vision ended, and so did the peace it always seemed to loan her for that moment, peace she so desperately needed. Gabrielle took another deep breath, but this one wasn’t voluntary, and she huffed out a sharp sigh.
Lightning weaved its white coils across the twilit sky, once again, and it was followed almost instantly by a crack of thunder so earsplitting it caused the earth to tremble.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she asked the storm defiantly, feeling the desire for a fight as she wished it really was a foe coming upon her instead of rain and wind, and then turned.
As she moved away from the horizon that had just swallowed the sun and its light completely and began walking toward her new life — a life that would be surrounded by the oppressive shadows of Darkness — she felt an intense foreboding stirring deep in her core. It was a feeling accompanying the Knowing that she prayed would not come to be.
There was a storm . . . the one that could bring her end that truly was of a far different sort, and it loomed on a horizon invisible to the humans it so greatly affected. But Gabrielle could see it. It was coming fast and true, and the rain it spills will be a mixture of the blood and tears of angels, the lightning from Divine weapons as they strike against each other, and the thunder will be from the screams of pain born from Yahuwah's angels and from those who had fallen.
She shivered, and as her body trembled she wanted to believe the chill was the result of the absence of the warm rays her flesh now missed, but she knew it was from the heaviness she had already sensed that accompanied the Fallen and the others who lived in Shadows . . . and from Darkness caused by far more than an absent sun.
©2012 Teal Haviland
***
Gabrielle’s Incarnation Scene
A bright flash of lightning and crack of thunder sent the few remaining humans scrambling to gather their belongings from the beach as they tried to beat the downpour. Some people had been so eager to get out of the storm’s path — one that seemed particularly angry — that they abandoned some of their things.
Gabrielle scanned the various discarded items — bottles of lotion, trash, scattered towels, a beach ball, and an umbrella that was now tumbling away as if it was trying to outrun the wind. Gabrielle mused that the gusts were trying to push the people, and even her, out of the way and to safety. The storm was of no concern to her. Nothing that belonged in the human world could harm her. It was the beings who didn't belong among humans who could make her wary, but there were few of those who caused her to ponder them or their threat, either.
Gabrielle turned her attention away from the umbrella's dance into the distance, and back in the direction of the water in front of her. The intensity of the surging waves was growing steadily, and she stood with her feet just within reach of the fingers of water. They seemed to stretch to tickle her toes; enticing her with each break of waves against the sand to come in and play for a while. The sun that had given its warmth throughout the day was setting just ahead of the storm, and it reflected against the liquid horizon of the Gulf of Mexico. The fiery sky caused shades of red, orange, and yellow to mingle on the surface of its stirring waters, while the winds ahead of the storm roused the fabric of her long black dress, making it to whip her legs as if trying to urge her to hurry — to move on and take shelter before the storm unleashed its rage.
As terrible as this storm threatened to be, this wasn’t the one that she was concerned with. It wasn't a storm of rain and wind and lightning that she was here to outwit — or that she would, in fact, be in danger of losing her life because of. Gabrielle closed her eyes and tried to push the thoughts out of her mind with other things.
The new thoughts that rushed in to replace them were no better, and she found the calm she had found in her surroundings earlier had waned, replaced by a familiar ache as her mind wandered to memories of Javan. She had been lonely since he'd fallen, and she'd been on this beach many years ago. Only that day, she hadn't been enjoying it alone . . . she had been with him.
It was a time before humans settled the now overpopulated Florida coastline. A time before she lost the only love in Heaven she could ever have, when she didn't have the empty space inside her she did now that is constant, and as loud to her, as it is silent to others. Many times she'd heard a human say, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.’ She’d argue that if it was the kind of love one angel had for another of their kind that it’s better to have simply never loved. An angel who has lost their companion will forever grieve them as if it just happened, without any chance of having another in their life to ease the sorrow. It didn’t make a difference if that loss was due to death, or if they had been cast out of the eternal home, the result was the same.
This visit to the beach was under vastly different circumstances. Not only was she alone and Javan now one of the Fallen, she was on a mission.
She closed her eyes, sensing the last warmth the sun’s rays would offer her face and bare arms on this day.
'Now is not the time for regrets.'
She pushed the sadness away, focusing instead on the Earthly sounds of seagulls calling to each other in the distance, and palm fronds rubbing against their neighbors as they tossed in the wind. When she opened her eyes, the sun was on the cusp of slipping away for another day, and she wished it would take the memories of Javan and her love for him with it, knowing it was a wish lost to being a possibility even as she made it. The light the sun had cast, that had lent itself to creating the vibrant colors she'd seen moments before, was now conceding to the dark blues and purples of dusk that appeared to be chasing the light into the world of gloom and void. There was still just enough light, though to make her eyes glint with the green of emeralds, and cause her long waves of dark hair to shine back against the ensuing shadows.
A bolt of lightning continuing to warn of the storm caught her attention, drawing it in the direction of not only it, but also a human who had been slow in leaving the openness of the beach where. The length of his stride told that he was aware of his vulnerability to the strands of electricity that seemed to now be ripping the sky apart almost constantly. Gabrielle's body tensed slightly as the man, in his mid twenties, began jogging toward her and smiled — looking at her a little longer than she was comfortable with.
'Am I doing a good job of looking normal?'
She felt a pang of worry grip her stomach as she wondered whether or not she was going to fit in here at all, or stand out like she did in her eternal home. The reality of being so different from her brethren was completely inescapable in Heaven, and she caught herself hoping on many occasions that things would be easier for her on Earth.
'Please just let me fit in . . . at least here.'
Another flash and crack of thunder made the man jump, pulling his hands quickly up to his ears to protect them from the sound that had already made its impact. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at the storm and then back at Gabrielle.
“That storm's going to be a real nasty one,” the man said as if he truly was concerned about her safety, a slight scowl reinforced the worry in his tone.
She just smiled and nodded. His concern, though kind, was wholly misplaced. But, he would have no idea of that — at least she hoped he wouldn’t suspect.
She looked around to see if she was drawing any other attention, but there really wasn’t anyone left who would wonder about her — they’d heeded nature’s threats. Even if they did notice the seventeen year-old standing at the water’s edge, she decided they probably wouldn’t take enough time to realize she was, somehow, different.
'They don’t notice the fantastical side of their world at all.'
The thought both relieved and disturbed her.
Gabrielle turned her attention back to the sunset as she once again tried to distract herself from her thoughts and recalled her day.
She’d spent the day under a much different sky, one full of sunlight and cotton clouds, as she enjoyed the added sensations and experiences her human senses allowed — senses she had no need of in her true form. She enjoyed being incarnated this time more than any other time before. It was the first time she’d been on Earth for more than a few minutes without drawing the unwanted, and dangerous, attention of every demon within a hundred miles. All thanks to the Aegis Veil.
While spending part of the day walking slowly in and out of the shops along the road running parallel to the beach, enjoying the protection the veil offered, she discovered the blissful taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She loved the way the cold slipped down her throat, but still didn't understand the reason it caused her to shiver and get little raised bumps on her tan skin that, to her relief, went away as quickly as they appeared. Regardless of why it happened, it was a nice change from the heat of day, and she looked forward to having another scoop before she made her way to her new home. She was glad she took the time to get familiar with her body before she began to meet the people who would become her neighbors — maybe even her friends.
The task ahead was going to be difficult. Humans weren't as easy for her to persuade anymore. If they were, there would be no reason to have come to Earth to live in a human body, at all.
She hoped she was doing the right thing, but being here was the only option she could think of to gain the insight she desperately needed, and she had fought relentlessly for this. It was vital for her to learn what compelled people to do the things they do, and she was relieved when her superior, Amaziah, told her it had been decided she could take on this task, even if it was for a shorter period of time than she wanted — even if it put her own life in danger.
It made little difference if she was one of the most powerful angels Yahuwah ever created if she couldn’t figure out how to make humans believe and have faith again. So many were relying on her success — from her home, as well as here on Earth. The battle that had been waged between Light and Darkness for thousands of years was being lost by her and her brethren. It was beginning to slip through their fingers at an astonishing rate. So fast, Gabrielle was concerned the decision to live here was one made too late.
This was all she could do, though.
This, and continuing to do her job making sure people receive the appropriate rewards, or punishments, for what they choose to do. Free will is a wonderful gift, but so many use theirs without a conscience now — and humanity’s lack of conscience was the biggest obstacle to winning the war.
Gabrielle breathed the warm, moist, sea air into her lungs, stretching them as far as she could and exhaled slowly. She needed to clear her mind of her concerns.
'Just concentrate on your goal.'
It was difficult to ease her tension, though. Her job had been affecting her mood more harshly every day. As much as she loved her position as the Angel of Karma, she’d like to not feel the hostility she now found herself experiencing most days — a nasty repercussion of having to deal with so much bad karma. Handing out a little more good karma compared to bad, instead of the other way around, would go a long way in making her less edgy.
Closing her eyes, she tried to only listen to the waves that were coming in at a progressively more rapid pace as the angry clouds grew closer.
'Soon, there won't be more than a heartbeat of time between each break of waves.'
Her focus on the sounds wasn't what soothed her troubled thoughts, though; it was the image of someone she'd seen on many occasions. She found she loved seeing his face pass into her mind’s eye whenever she had the vision of him lately. She loved it, and was frightened that she loved it at the same time. She didn’t know who he was — the young man with the blue eyes she wanted to retreat into — but, she did know the feelings she seemed to be having for this human were completely forbidden, and something she couldn’t act upon.
'I can’t have the love of a human any more than I can have it from any angel other than Javan and, unless I join the Fallen . . . and that will never happen.'
The human was hers, though. At least his image and the way it made her feel and no one knew it but her. Not even Amaziah — especially not Amaziah. He would be furious with her if he knew, and she didn’t need to give him another reason why she shouldn’t be doing this — he'd accumulated plenty of those. She was going to keep the vision of him to herself as long as she could and one day, he would end up in front of her in her reality instead of only in the recurring image. She would wait for that day. And, at least for now, he was hers and only hers.
'My little secret.'
All too soon, the vision ended, and so did the peace it always seemed to loan her for that moment, peace she so desperately needed. Gabrielle took another deep breath, but this one wasn’t voluntary, and she huffed out a sharp sigh.
Lightning weaved its white coils across the twilit sky, once again, and it was followed almost instantly by a crack of thunder so earsplitting it caused the earth to tremble.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she asked the storm defiantly, feeling the desire for a fight as she wished it really was a foe coming upon her instead of rain and wind, and then turned.
As she moved away from the horizon that had just swallowed the sun and its light completely and began walking toward her new life — a life that would be surrounded by the oppressive shadows of Darkness — she felt an intense foreboding stirring deep in her core. It was a feeling accompanying the Knowing that she prayed would not come to be.
There was a storm . . . the one that could bring her end that truly was of a far different sort, and it loomed on a horizon invisible to the humans it so greatly affected. But Gabrielle could see it. It was coming fast and true, and the rain it spills will be a mixture of the blood and tears of angels, the lightning from Divine weapons as they strike against each other, and the thunder will be from the screams of pain born from Yahuwah's angels and from those who had fallen.
She shivered, and as her body trembled she wanted to believe the chill was the result of the absence of the warm rays her flesh now missed, but she knew it was from the heaviness she had already sensed that accompanied the Fallen and the others who lived in Shadows . . . and from Darkness caused by far more than an absent sun.
©2012 Teal Haviland
Unedited excerpt from The Reaping Chronicles ~ Inception
I have put up an excerpt of a scene in Inception on my website. Here is the link if you would like a sneak peak of the book!
http://tealhaviland.com/For_My_Fans.html
http://tealhaviland.com/For_My_Fans.html
For the Love of World Building
Here is the guest post I did for Laura Howard for her blog Finding Bliss on world building.
* * * * * *
When asked to write this guest post about world building several thoughts rushed into my mind. All clamored for my attention, wanting it to be focused on them.
Two won out—how honored I was to have been asked to write my first guest post by a blogger (Thank you, Laura!!!), and the one that really staked claim on my consciousness . . . I don’t know enough about world building myself, yet, to write a blog post. After shooing away my insecurities, however, I see I do. I also realized I love it.
Any writer of fiction creates a world for the reader to escape into, but the worlds of fantasy writers—whether it’s urban, high, epic, or any of the other classifications of fantasy—create worlds which send our imaginations on a journey of magic and myth, rich with fantastical discoveries.
It’s true I am still learning my craft (and I hope to always be learning) but I have information to offer those who are attempting to write their first book, hopefully helping them a bit along the way as others have helped me.
So . . . what do I know about world building? This guest post proved to me I know more than I can fit into my word limit if I don’t want it to read like a textbook excerpt, but there are two things I’ll share that condenses everything I have learned down into key points:
Everything that happens in the story being written is creating its world; from the clothing worn, food eaten, magic used, hierarchy, weapons, landscape, rituals, people, animals, fantastical creatures, language . . . everything. It’s what I enjoy most about fantasy—the limitless possibilities of the characters, stories, and worlds.
The writer must know the rules of the world being created and stick to them. This is the one piece of advice I have heard and read continually. It’s like the sacred rule of world building. I think if it’s broken, the offender gets thrown into another fantasy writer’s version of Hell. Depending on the writer, that could be good or bad. I don’t plan on discovering which.
I chose to write in a genre known for its opinionated, picky, and sometimes finicky fans, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am not just a writer of fantasy; I am one of those fans. I have always loved fantasy of all kinds, and the reason I chose the genre that holds the best, but most particular, readers can be explained in one word—escapism.
Anytime I thought about how great it would be to write a book one day, I never questioned the genre I would try to make my mark in. It only makes sense to retreat into writing my own stories just as much as I have always escaped into others’.
To me, the best part of world building is being the creator of a story that is mine. As the author, I call the shots. I decide what makes the world work and what can destroy it, who has power and who wants it, who has the ability to use magic and whose heart has been blackened because of its use, who succeeds and who fails, who finds love and who loses it . . . every tiny detail.
I can be as simple or intricate with my creation as I decide suits the story and characters—as long as I follow the rules I dream up.
I’m the boss (bwahahahahaaaaa). Oops . . . did I type that? Oh well, I do intend on taking over the world, so I need to practice my sinister laugh.
The writer’s imagination is the heart of the world that’s built, the words are its foundation, and the story as a whole is the structure which houses its soul. Fantasy is created from wonder . . . just as it creates wonder in those who read it.
World building . . . what’s not to love?
© 2013 Teal Haviland
Here is the link to Laura's blog.
http://laurahoward78.blogspot.com/201...
Thank you, Laura!
* * * * * *
When asked to write this guest post about world building several thoughts rushed into my mind. All clamored for my attention, wanting it to be focused on them.
Two won out—how honored I was to have been asked to write my first guest post by a blogger (Thank you, Laura!!!), and the one that really staked claim on my consciousness . . . I don’t know enough about world building myself, yet, to write a blog post. After shooing away my insecurities, however, I see I do. I also realized I love it.
Any writer of fiction creates a world for the reader to escape into, but the worlds of fantasy writers—whether it’s urban, high, epic, or any of the other classifications of fantasy—create worlds which send our imaginations on a journey of magic and myth, rich with fantastical discoveries.
It’s true I am still learning my craft (and I hope to always be learning) but I have information to offer those who are attempting to write their first book, hopefully helping them a bit along the way as others have helped me.
So . . . what do I know about world building? This guest post proved to me I know more than I can fit into my word limit if I don’t want it to read like a textbook excerpt, but there are two things I’ll share that condenses everything I have learned down into key points:
Everything that happens in the story being written is creating its world; from the clothing worn, food eaten, magic used, hierarchy, weapons, landscape, rituals, people, animals, fantastical creatures, language . . . everything. It’s what I enjoy most about fantasy—the limitless possibilities of the characters, stories, and worlds.
The writer must know the rules of the world being created and stick to them. This is the one piece of advice I have heard and read continually. It’s like the sacred rule of world building. I think if it’s broken, the offender gets thrown into another fantasy writer’s version of Hell. Depending on the writer, that could be good or bad. I don’t plan on discovering which.
I chose to write in a genre known for its opinionated, picky, and sometimes finicky fans, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am not just a writer of fantasy; I am one of those fans. I have always loved fantasy of all kinds, and the reason I chose the genre that holds the best, but most particular, readers can be explained in one word—escapism.
Anytime I thought about how great it would be to write a book one day, I never questioned the genre I would try to make my mark in. It only makes sense to retreat into writing my own stories just as much as I have always escaped into others’.
To me, the best part of world building is being the creator of a story that is mine. As the author, I call the shots. I decide what makes the world work and what can destroy it, who has power and who wants it, who has the ability to use magic and whose heart has been blackened because of its use, who succeeds and who fails, who finds love and who loses it . . . every tiny detail.
I can be as simple or intricate with my creation as I decide suits the story and characters—as long as I follow the rules I dream up.
I’m the boss (bwahahahahaaaaa). Oops . . . did I type that? Oh well, I do intend on taking over the world, so I need to practice my sinister laugh.
The writer’s imagination is the heart of the world that’s built, the words are its foundation, and the story as a whole is the structure which houses its soul. Fantasy is created from wonder . . . just as it creates wonder in those who read it.
World building . . . what’s not to love?
© 2013 Teal Haviland
Here is the link to Laura's blog.
http://laurahoward78.blogspot.com/201...
Thank you, Laura!
Excerpt #2 from The Reaping Chronicles ~ Inception
A new excerpt from Inception is up on my website!
Follow this link to read it!
http://tealhaviland.com/For_My_Fans.html
Follow this link to read it!
http://tealhaviland.com/For_My_Fans.html
Excerpt #4 from The Reaping Chronicles ~ Inception
As soon as Lucas had made the decision, he fell asleep, but Gabby came to him in his dreams.
'And, damn, they were good dreams.'
He was able to touch her face, her hair, lean in as she was looking into his eyes, softly press his lips to hers, and wrap her safely in his arms.
He didn't know why he felt so protective of her, why he felt she was in danger. But he couldn't deny the threat he felt to her when Mara appeared. It was strange. Mara had proven she wasn't to be trusted and could be violent, and she had certainly creeped him out the last time he saw her prior to yesterday's encounter. But would she come after Gabby? It was a possibility after what she'd done to Gran. He didn't want Gabby to have anything to do with the girl.
'Ever.'
"So, how was the rest of your day yesterday?" Lucas asked. It was a lame question, especially with all the others rattling around in his head. But it wasn't the right time to ask those.
Gabrielle smiled as though she knew it wasn't what he really wanted to know, but she answered anyway.
"It was good."
She didn't say anything else for a few seconds, just let her eyes fall to their hands, still clasped together. She seemed to frown a little, but it was so slight and fleeting that he wasn't sure. It didn't make him feel very confident though when, as soon as the expression passed, she let go of his hand, acting like she needed to search something out in her purse, mumbling things to herself. He couldn't quite understand what she was saying.
'She's speaking in a different language.'
Languages had always come easily to him. He even spoke a few fluently, and whenever he tried to learn one, it came easy—too easy—just like so many other things in his life had. But this language, even though it tickled his ears with familiarity, was one he was sure he'd never heard before.
Then, she said a couple of words he thought he recognized.
"What's reckless and dangerous?" he asked.
Gabrielle stopped searching her purse abruptly and looked up at him, brows raised. Those amazing green eyes of hers were ablaze with curiosity. Lucas felt like she could look into his mind and find out everything she wanted to know, all of his secrets, if she desired to.
"What did you ask me?" Gabrielle's eyes questioned him as much as her words.
'Man they're intense—intense and mesmerizing.'
"I asked, what's reckless and dangerous? I thought I recognized some of what you were saying, but I'm not sure. I'm pretty good at languages . . . that's all." Lucas stopped talking. Now, those green eyes were framed by a scowl. He didn't like what he was seeing in them—distrust. He could see it in her expression, but he felt it, too. He could feel her.
'But . . . how? And what did I say to make her look at me like that?'
Everything outside of her car seemed to slow as she stared harder, deeper.
Students running to get out of the rain were now in some kind of a cross between barely moving and a walk. The rain that was coming down so hard that he could barely see more than the blur it caused was now almost frozen—he could clearly see each drop falling. Even the small splash each drop made when it hit something could easily be seen as it came up, then slowly descended to rest again. The tiniest ripples he'd ever seen were everywhere.
'Everything is almost suspended.'
Then Gabby looked away. Just like that, the spell was broken. Everything moved in real-time again. Things had gotten very strange, very fast.
'Damn. I'm afraid to say anything after that. Did I imagine everything slowing down? If the world really did almost completely halt, how?'
He ran through the conversation prior to her letting go of his hand in an attempt to figure out where his foot plowed into his mouth. But there was . . .
Nothing.
Nothing that he could put his finger on, anyway.
Gabby was looking out the window, still silent, and he couldn't stand it any longer.
"Gabby, what's wrong? What did I say? Whatever it was, I didn't mean to offend you. If you were trying to keep your thoughts to yourself by speaking a different language, I didn't mean to intrude, and I promise I didn't understand anything else you said."
Gabby finally looked back at him; the same expression was on her face, but the intensity in her eyes had ratcheted back considerably.
Smiling slightly, still seeming confused about something, she finally answered.
"It's okay . . . I'm sorry. It's just that, well, I had said those two words. I never expected you to understand them. I was speaking a very old form of Hebrew. You might be good at languages, Lucas, but very few hu—people would understand any of what I just spoke."
Lucas could tell she wasn't finished speaking. She looked at him closely for several seconds, and he worried she was about to do that intense thing again. Instead, she asked him a question.
"Where did you learn the words I spoke?"
Lucas scowled as he tried to think. He focused back on her face and gave her the only answer he had to give.
"I don't know, Gabby."
She stared at him a little longer, then seemed to let it go when the first bell for school sounded. He didn't know why she did, but he was glad. He was feeling a bit odd about it himself, now.
'How did I know?'
"Well," she said with a more familiar smile, "I guess we can talk more later. Looks like we're going to get a break in the rain."
Lucas looked out the window. The rain had all but stopped just as the world outside the car had minutes before, but now, the students continued to move as they normally would; rain fell as rain should fall; he was still sitting with the most beautiful, intriguing girl he'd ever met. Only he felt like maybe he should have just put a toe in first and tested the waters before diving into the deep end; he felt he may be in over his head.
'Way over.'
------
©2013 Teal Haviland
http://www.tealhaviland.com/For_My_Fa...
'And, damn, they were good dreams.'
He was able to touch her face, her hair, lean in as she was looking into his eyes, softly press his lips to hers, and wrap her safely in his arms.
He didn't know why he felt so protective of her, why he felt she was in danger. But he couldn't deny the threat he felt to her when Mara appeared. It was strange. Mara had proven she wasn't to be trusted and could be violent, and she had certainly creeped him out the last time he saw her prior to yesterday's encounter. But would she come after Gabby? It was a possibility after what she'd done to Gran. He didn't want Gabby to have anything to do with the girl.
'Ever.'
"So, how was the rest of your day yesterday?" Lucas asked. It was a lame question, especially with all the others rattling around in his head. But it wasn't the right time to ask those.
Gabrielle smiled as though she knew it wasn't what he really wanted to know, but she answered anyway.
"It was good."
She didn't say anything else for a few seconds, just let her eyes fall to their hands, still clasped together. She seemed to frown a little, but it was so slight and fleeting that he wasn't sure. It didn't make him feel very confident though when, as soon as the expression passed, she let go of his hand, acting like she needed to search something out in her purse, mumbling things to herself. He couldn't quite understand what she was saying.
'She's speaking in a different language.'
Languages had always come easily to him. He even spoke a few fluently, and whenever he tried to learn one, it came easy—too easy—just like so many other things in his life had. But this language, even though it tickled his ears with familiarity, was one he was sure he'd never heard before.
Then, she said a couple of words he thought he recognized.
"What's reckless and dangerous?" he asked.
Gabrielle stopped searching her purse abruptly and looked up at him, brows raised. Those amazing green eyes of hers were ablaze with curiosity. Lucas felt like she could look into his mind and find out everything she wanted to know, all of his secrets, if she desired to.
"What did you ask me?" Gabrielle's eyes questioned him as much as her words.
'Man they're intense—intense and mesmerizing.'
"I asked, what's reckless and dangerous? I thought I recognized some of what you were saying, but I'm not sure. I'm pretty good at languages . . . that's all." Lucas stopped talking. Now, those green eyes were framed by a scowl. He didn't like what he was seeing in them—distrust. He could see it in her expression, but he felt it, too. He could feel her.
'But . . . how? And what did I say to make her look at me like that?'
Everything outside of her car seemed to slow as she stared harder, deeper.
Students running to get out of the rain were now in some kind of a cross between barely moving and a walk. The rain that was coming down so hard that he could barely see more than the blur it caused was now almost frozen—he could clearly see each drop falling. Even the small splash each drop made when it hit something could easily be seen as it came up, then slowly descended to rest again. The tiniest ripples he'd ever seen were everywhere.
'Everything is almost suspended.'
Then Gabby looked away. Just like that, the spell was broken. Everything moved in real-time again. Things had gotten very strange, very fast.
'Damn. I'm afraid to say anything after that. Did I imagine everything slowing down? If the world really did almost completely halt, how?'
He ran through the conversation prior to her letting go of his hand in an attempt to figure out where his foot plowed into his mouth. But there was . . .
Nothing.
Nothing that he could put his finger on, anyway.
Gabby was looking out the window, still silent, and he couldn't stand it any longer.
"Gabby, what's wrong? What did I say? Whatever it was, I didn't mean to offend you. If you were trying to keep your thoughts to yourself by speaking a different language, I didn't mean to intrude, and I promise I didn't understand anything else you said."
Gabby finally looked back at him; the same expression was on her face, but the intensity in her eyes had ratcheted back considerably.
Smiling slightly, still seeming confused about something, she finally answered.
"It's okay . . . I'm sorry. It's just that, well, I had said those two words. I never expected you to understand them. I was speaking a very old form of Hebrew. You might be good at languages, Lucas, but very few hu—people would understand any of what I just spoke."
Lucas could tell she wasn't finished speaking. She looked at him closely for several seconds, and he worried she was about to do that intense thing again. Instead, she asked him a question.
"Where did you learn the words I spoke?"
Lucas scowled as he tried to think. He focused back on her face and gave her the only answer he had to give.
"I don't know, Gabby."
She stared at him a little longer, then seemed to let it go when the first bell for school sounded. He didn't know why she did, but he was glad. He was feeling a bit odd about it himself, now.
'How did I know?'
"Well," she said with a more familiar smile, "I guess we can talk more later. Looks like we're going to get a break in the rain."
Lucas looked out the window. The rain had all but stopped just as the world outside the car had minutes before, but now, the students continued to move as they normally would; rain fell as rain should fall; he was still sitting with the most beautiful, intriguing girl he'd ever met. Only he felt like maybe he should have just put a toe in first and tested the waters before diving into the deep end; he felt he may be in over his head.
'Way over.'
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