I've been trying to write a book for some time, but am not quite sure how good it is. So here is part of one chapter, called 'Water Music'. It is supposed to fit in towards the end of the story, so I know some things won't make much sense.
Well.. here it is.
'Water Music'
Staring at the tiny golden watch, as it sat in the palm of her grimy left hand, Lyrec found it impossibly hard to believe that it held any magic. To her, it looked just like a pocket watch, nothing more. It had always emanated a certain warmth, a gentle throbbing heat, which she had felt against her chest, a familiar friend during the dark days. But that warmth had never been considered, or pondered. It had hung on its chain all those years, its heat seeping into Lyrec’s skin. Lyrec had thought it only a watch, for that is what it appeared. It told the time, each hand ticking round and round at its own pace, three hands moving simultaneously. To any onlooker, a watch was all it was. But it wasn’t. This watch, a trinket she had carried for the past ten years, for the mere reason that it had been her fathers, was suddenly no longer a piece of jewellery, but an object that possessed more power than she had. When she had gained her own power, her animal translation, she had felt whole and new, but this, this Time-Teller, was different. Lyrec turned the watch over in her hand. Even in the dim light of the approaching night, Lyrec could see how very shiny it still was. She didn’t know whether her father had polished it in the time he had carried it, but she knew that she had never done so, not even with a rag. The Soothsayers had been right. This wasn’t any ordinary watch. It was clearly alive and could take care of itself. It shone like new and it held no dent or scratch. Even as she held it, she could feel its pulsing heat burning into her palm, like a tiny heartbeat. It was hotter now than it had ever been. She could remember its dull warmth as it had hung against her chest for all those years, but now, in comparison, it was blazing. It was as if it knew she was thinking about it, analysing it.
Now she had the Time-Teller back and knew what it did, and how to use it, she realised that she could see all her family again, witness the years she had missed out on, the years that had passed her by. She found it hard to believe that she not seen or heard from them for practically all her adolescent years and the times since. She looked at her father first. She felt it was fitting that she observed his memories first, as it was him that gave her the Time-Teller.
And so, opening the watch fully, the bright golden glow of stored time emanating across its cogs, she broke into it, her mind open to the memories that flooded out. And she specifically chose those of her fathers. There were few. Or rather, there were many, the same amount as any person has, but Lyrec found that all her father’s memories were practically the same. Every morning, he woke alone, his wife having already left sleep behind. He’d dress, usually in slacks of a dusty grey, along with a shapeless shirt, an old blue striped one that Lyrec could remember him wearing when it was new, the sleeves now roughly rolled up to his elbows. He had grown very thin. On some days Lyrec found that sometimes he didn’t even bother to shave, his jaw-line darkened with blue-grey stubble, making his cheeks look sallow and sunken. He spent his days in a state of delusion, a book with him always, his aging hands fingering the yellow pages, dust escaping every fold. Lyrec watched as her father’s life was fleetingly acknowledged by her mother, and barely noticed by her sister. They were so together, and he was apart from them, alone. To Lyrec, he appeared lost; forgotten. He was the perfect reflection of herself, except she was finding answers now, and he was not. Lyrec pitied him. She wanted to go home, to hold him and protect his frail frame from the lonely world he lived in. He was not the strong willed man he had once been, the man she had feared. He had always been alone, stuck in a fantasy of his own making, yet somehow, she had always known that he was full of life underneath it all, a hidden persona. As she watched her father go about his life through his eyes, she knew that the secret spark had gone; completely disappeared. The father she had known was no longer there. It was like he was dead inside. An empty shell. To see him like this hurt her, a painful stab at her heart, the place where the dreams of finally reaching her father, to understand him, were kept. They dwindled like a flame on an almost burnt out candle. She pushed her father away. She could not take any more pain. She poured into her mother’s memories.
These, in contrast to her father’s, were bright and full of life. She was as plump as ever, a soft roundness that Lyrec had so enjoyed when she had been in need of a mother’s warmth. Lyrec’s mother had been baking lots, like she always had; steaming loaves, blueberry muffins, crumbling biscuits of every flavour. Very often Hara appeared during these times, baking with her. They seemed so close and so happy with each other, that it was if they hardly knew that their husband and father was alone in the next room and that far away, their daughter and sister was watching them and crying at having been forgotten. Lyrec’s mother had been meeting with other women in the village, gossiping and exchanging recipes. Whereas Lyrec’s father seemed haggard and grey, her mother was still blooming. Her cheeks were still round and rosy; her laughter was heard in the air continually. And Hara always with her, like a shadow. Hara was changing too. Lyrec had left her as a quiet girl, but as she leafed through her mother’s memories, peering at the ones in which Hara appeared, Hara had changed. In the very last memories, the ones of that very day, Hara was a young woman, a real beauty. Her hair was no longer in that cropped bob, but instead was long and tied back into a low tail, her blue eyes bright under her dark fringe. She still wore blouses and pinafore dresses, but they now complimented her, her long slender legs clothed in pale woollen tights. She had a small job as a cookery teacher at the school in the village, and the children loved her. Lyrec was almost envious. Here was her little sister, a real beauty with a great life ahead of her, and compared to her, Lyrec was shabby and unkempt. Perhaps if she had never been chosen, if she’d stayed at home too, then maybe that would have been her. But deep down, Lyrec knew that she would never have wanted that life. Lyrec had wanted freedom, and adventure, and she had got it. Lyrec drew her mind from her mother’s time. She’d seen so much of that other life, the one she’d been missing out on and it was making her feel more alone than she’d ever felt. She used to cherish the moments she spent alone; laying in the farmer’s crops, singing to herself as she picked berries from thorny bushes, clinging to the branches of tall trees just to see a bird’s nest, but now, loneliness no longer suited her. And so, casting aside the thoughts of her divided family, she turned to the memories of Yaz. Lyrec had considered peering through Aira’s long lost memories, those last years before her death, but Lyrec knew she herself had seen these years first hand, and although she wasn’t there for the last few months, Lyrec didn’t want to see them. She knew how her friend had died and that was all she wanted to know. She could not and would not, bear seeing Aira’s last moments. These would be kept from her mind. And so, needing to feel her friend’s presence, yet without going straight to the source, Lyrec swept into the memories of Aira’s brother, Yaz. She did not look at those in the years since she left, or the time during the fire. These she passed by, feeling their dark grief without truly looking upon them.
Well.. here it is.
'Water Music'
Staring at the tiny golden watch, as it sat in the palm of her grimy left hand, Lyrec found it impossibly hard to believe that it held any magic. To her, it looked just like a pocket watch, nothing more. It had always emanated a certain warmth, a gentle throbbing heat, which she had felt against her chest, a familiar friend during the dark days. But that warmth had never been considered, or pondered. It had hung on its chain all those years, its heat seeping into Lyrec’s skin. Lyrec had thought it only a watch, for that is what it appeared. It told the time, each hand ticking round and round at its own pace, three hands moving simultaneously. To any onlooker, a watch was all it was. But it wasn’t. This watch, a trinket she had carried for the past ten years, for the mere reason that it had been her fathers, was suddenly no longer a piece of jewellery, but an object that possessed more power than she had. When she had gained her own power, her animal translation, she had felt whole and new, but this, this Time-Teller, was different. Lyrec turned the watch over in her hand. Even in the dim light of the approaching night, Lyrec could see how very shiny it still was. She didn’t know whether her father had polished it in the time he had carried it, but she knew that she had never done so, not even with a rag. The Soothsayers had been right. This wasn’t any ordinary watch. It was clearly alive and could take care of itself. It shone like new and it held no dent or scratch. Even as she held it, she could feel its pulsing heat burning into her palm, like a tiny heartbeat. It was hotter now than it had ever been. She could remember its dull warmth as it had hung against her chest for all those years, but now, in comparison, it was blazing. It was as if it knew she was thinking about it, analysing it.
Now she had the Time-Teller back and knew what it did, and how to use it, she realised that she could see all her family again, witness the years she had missed out on, the years that had passed her by. She found it hard to believe that she not seen or heard from them for practically all her adolescent years and the times since. She looked at her father first. She felt it was fitting that she observed his memories first, as it was him that gave her the Time-Teller.
And so, opening the watch fully, the bright golden glow of stored time emanating across its cogs, she broke into it, her mind open to the memories that flooded out. And she specifically chose those of her fathers. There were few. Or rather, there were many, the same amount as any person has, but Lyrec found that all her father’s memories were practically the same. Every morning, he woke alone, his wife having already left sleep behind. He’d dress, usually in slacks of a dusty grey, along with a shapeless shirt, an old blue striped one that Lyrec could remember him wearing when it was new, the sleeves now roughly rolled up to his elbows. He had grown very thin. On some days Lyrec found that sometimes he didn’t even bother to shave, his jaw-line darkened with blue-grey stubble, making his cheeks look sallow and sunken. He spent his days in a state of delusion, a book with him always, his aging hands fingering the yellow pages, dust escaping every fold. Lyrec watched as her father’s life was fleetingly acknowledged by her mother, and barely noticed by her sister. They were so together, and he was apart from them, alone. To Lyrec, he appeared lost; forgotten. He was the perfect reflection of herself, except she was finding answers now, and he was not. Lyrec pitied him. She wanted to go home, to hold him and protect his frail frame from the lonely world he lived in. He was not the strong willed man he had once been, the man she had feared. He had always been alone, stuck in a fantasy of his own making, yet somehow, she had always known that he was full of life underneath it all, a hidden persona. As she watched her father go about his life through his eyes, she knew that the secret spark had gone; completely disappeared. The father she had known was no longer there. It was like he was dead inside. An empty shell. To see him like this hurt her, a painful stab at her heart, the place where the dreams of finally reaching her father, to understand him, were kept. They dwindled like a flame on an almost burnt out candle. She pushed her father away. She could not take any more pain. She poured into her mother’s memories.
These, in contrast to her father’s, were bright and full of life. She was as plump as ever, a soft roundness that Lyrec had so enjoyed when she had been in need of a mother’s warmth. Lyrec’s mother had been baking lots, like she always had; steaming loaves, blueberry muffins, crumbling biscuits of every flavour. Very often Hara appeared during these times, baking with her. They seemed so close and so happy with each other, that it was if they hardly knew that their husband and father was alone in the next room and that far away, their daughter and sister was watching them and crying at having been forgotten. Lyrec’s mother had been meeting with other women in the village, gossiping and exchanging recipes. Whereas Lyrec’s father seemed haggard and grey, her mother was still blooming. Her cheeks were still round and rosy; her laughter was heard in the air continually. And Hara always with her, like a shadow. Hara was changing too. Lyrec had left her as a quiet girl, but as she leafed through her mother’s memories, peering at the ones in which Hara appeared, Hara had changed. In the very last memories, the ones of that very day, Hara was a young woman, a real beauty. Her hair was no longer in that cropped bob, but instead was long and tied back into a low tail, her blue eyes bright under her dark fringe. She still wore blouses and pinafore dresses, but they now complimented her, her long slender legs clothed in pale woollen tights. She had a small job as a cookery teacher at the school in the village, and the children loved her. Lyrec was almost envious. Here was her little sister, a real beauty with a great life ahead of her, and compared to her, Lyrec was shabby and unkempt. Perhaps if she had never been chosen, if she’d stayed at home too, then maybe that would have been her. But deep down, Lyrec knew that she would never have wanted that life. Lyrec had wanted freedom, and adventure, and she had got it. Lyrec drew her mind from her mother’s time. She’d seen so much of that other life, the one she’d been missing out on and it was making her feel more alone than she’d ever felt. She used to cherish the moments she spent alone; laying in the farmer’s crops, singing to herself as she picked berries from thorny bushes, clinging to the branches of tall trees just to see a bird’s nest, but now, loneliness no longer suited her. And so, casting aside the thoughts of her divided family, she turned to the memories of Yaz. Lyrec had considered peering through Aira’s long lost memories, those last years before her death, but Lyrec knew she herself had seen these years first hand, and although she wasn’t there for the last few months, Lyrec didn’t want to see them. She knew how her friend had died and that was all she wanted to know. She could not and would not, bear seeing Aira’s last moments. These would be kept from her mind. And so, needing to feel her friend’s presence, yet without going straight to the source, Lyrec swept into the memories of Aira’s brother, Yaz. She did not look at those in the years since she left, or the time during the fire. These she passed by, feeling their dark grief without truly looking upon them.