Hello everyone!
My story for the inaugural combined WEP/IWSG challenge has a long history. I first wrote a much different version for my first #fridayflash entry in 2010 which was somewhat behind my idea to start RomanticFridayWriters, now WEP. I've since written a novel based on this original idea which is languishing in the slushpile at Avon Books.
I present to you a snippet from the original Saskia and Raphael Parisian love story.
I present to you a snippet from the original Saskia and Raphael Parisian love story.
I hope you enjoy my women's fiction.
Carpe Diem
It happens every morning. That seeping dread. Jolting her feet until
they burn from toe to heel. Creeping up her limbs like a colony of ants, enflaming
her throat. Finally, it settles like a leaden ball in her chest where it
maintains its constant slow burn.
As the room washes with the first glimmer of light,
Saskia lies in the bed of her third-floor Parisian apartment, whispering her
mantra over and over – Carpe diem, carpe diem,
carpe diem, willing the dread to pass.
She has always loved this golden hour when the
world holds its breath, hoping the new day will disperse gifts from a benevolent
god.
What
will be my gift?
Will
He send the angels for me today?
Or
will Raphael come back to me today?
She spies a dove at the window, silvery wings fluttering,
‘Get up. Get up. Get up.’
Ignoring the leaden ball in her chest, she throws
aside the sheet and pads across the carpet to the open window.
Satisfied it now has an audience, the little dove dives
into the ornate bath in the courtyard, shaded by purple wisteria which creeps restlessly
along the exposed ledges as if it knows time is short, that in winter it will become
an ungainly skeleton.
From the spindly branches of the pretty tree, the
bird begins its morning song. The joyful notes thrum like a soaring solo in a
Beethoven symphony.
Song over, the silver bird soars into the sky.
She stands at the window clutching the sill. The
beat of every passing moment pulses in her ears.
Carpe
diem.
She must seize the day.
I
will not think of all I have lost.
Raphael.
Raphael. Raphael.
I
will not think of the glory days.
Raphael.
Raphael. Raphael.
She puffs out a breath and decides that a pure blue
sky demands a walk over the bridge in front of Notre Dame.
Today she will miss the ecstatic sounds of Eloise
and her lover in Apartment 2 who like to make noisy love in the afternoon, all
afternoon, reminding her of herself and Raphael in the flush of first love.
Before he had a change of heart.
Before he found someone he loved more than her.
Why does her heart still pine for him?
Perhaps she can blame Eloise.
Get
out of my head, Raphael.
She studies the glorious golden sun cresting the
horizon. She watches the orb creep over the beautiful old sandstone buildings
like a playful giant, blowing fire onto the zinc rooftops, transforming them into
molten gold.
She completes her salute-to-the-sun routine, bathed
in the warming rays.
While she dresses, she glances at her bed. Their
bed.
One morning she woke and his side of the bed was
cold, the sheets unwrinkled. He has never shared her bed since. According to
the social pages he has warmed the bed of many of Paris’ young women and broken
their hearts like he has broken hers. She wonders how he finds the time.
Today, if she can manage the short walk from la
Tour Eiffel, she will surprise him at his latest art exhibition at the Musée du
quai Branly. She must give the gods a chance to bestow on her a last wish.
To see Raphael one more time.
Leaning over the wide cement ledge, her vision fills
with the Gothic splendour of Notre Dame. The sun-bathed brick structure stands
proud and golden on the Île de la Cité, her buttresses grasping the edges of
the Seine. Taking a deep breath, she inhales the river smell − reedy, thick,
brackish.
She averts her eyes from the thousands of glinting
golden padlocks that lovers have attached to the bridge’s mesh sides,
signifying undying, unbroken love.
Hers and Raphael’s lock is lost amongst the
thousands of metallic clasps engraved with initials and love symbols, rusting
away, short-lived like their marriage, soon to be cut loose by Parisian
councilmen.
Why is Raphael clouding her mind today of all days?
She closes her eyes and imagines him running across the bridge as he used to
do, wrapping her in his arms, spinning her around, making her feel safe.
How she would love to feel his arms around her again.
She stands glacial, immobile, a Rodin sculpture.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she will leave all this beauty to enter an
entirely different world.
A world of hospitals, doctors, nurses, prodding,
jabbing, priestly prayers and last of all, hope.
She steps away from the rails, Mahatma Ghandi’s
words giving wings to her feet: ‘Live as if you were to die tomorrow.’
She whispers her mantra over and over.
Carpe
diem.
Carpe
diem.
Carpe
diem.
A pain stabs her heart, throwing her against the concrete
rail. She clutches her chest with both hands. No, not yet! The ground rushes to meet her. Warm concrete slaps
her face. A dog yaps.
Then black envelops her.
She hears him.
A much-loved engine purrs in the distance.
A huge black motorbike is propped against the kerb.
Her angel. Her Raphael.
He stands at the end of the bridge, hands in pockets,
watching her, his studded motorcycle boots planted firmly on the timber.
Her heart beats so loudly the sound chokes her
throat.
If only she could get out from under this block of
concrete and run to him.
Oh, those capricious gods!
Why is he wearing black?
He opens his arms.
She stands, but is rooted to the spot, hands pressing
her heart, feeling the throbbing joy.
He beckons her … come!
She whispers her mantra over and over as she staggers
into his waiting arms.
Carpe
diem!
Carpe
diem!
Carpe
diem!
‘Saskia.’ The aching note in his voice moves her
more than his words.
WORDS - 948
FCA - as per preference list below
This is my entry for the WEP/IWSG August challenge.
Please CLICK on entries at WEP to read more stories.
Thank you for reading. If you're not joining the WEP/IWSG challenge this month, perhaps you'd consider joining us in October for Deju Vu Voodoo - (((shiver))) (((shake)))
