Snapshots through time: Eleanor remembers

reincarnation-the-almost-hug

Eleanor had first met Jonah when she was twenty eight, coming back from a party; she had bumped into him at a train station. Their eyes had locked and something inside her, that she hadn’t realised was tense, had relaxed. Her heart rate had sky rocketed and she had looked away unable to withstand the intensity of the moment any more.

She looked up again and he was still staring, a look of deep concentration on his face. Did he recognise her? Something about him seemed familiar and yet she knew she would have remembered such a handsome face.

“Hello,”

Eleanor started as she looked up into deep brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Jonah said still looking confused, “it seems like I have met you before,” he’d laughed then and Eleanor had never heard something so beautiful, “that sounds like a line but –”

“No,” she interrupted finally finding her voice, “I know exactly what you mean.”

So began a love affair that just like their previous life would end only in tragedy, because the more Eleanor and Jonah got to know each other the more the feeling of déjà vu plagued them. He knew things about her that she hadn’t told him yet and vice versa. At first they had found it funny even helpful that they seemed so in-sync but as time wore on, remembered snapshots of their past lives would encroach on their present life.

 

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Short Story for Halloween: An Intruder part 2

Dark Street

Out of her backpack she takes out a bag of salt, every step must be calculated. She throws some salt forward as she takes a step forward; she skids a little on the slippery tile before she finds purchase. Not taking any chances but conscious of the time, she throws and walks, throws and walks.
She makes it across the roof; she has three more to go.
Focusing her mind and bracing herself against the dropping temperature she commits herself to her rooftop walk. It’s slow going but she makes no mistakes. The caution has cost her; she is seven minutes behind schedule.
Her destination is up ahead.
Sliding herself to the edge of the roof she crouches down and listens.
All is silent.
Protected by nosy neighbours by the extensive back garden she edges herself over the ledge, her boots skim the window and for a breath-taking moment she loses her footing. She forgot to place more salt, too late, she has both hands supporting her weight and the salt safely tucked away in her backpack. Legs dangling in mid-air, weight supported solely by her arms, she tries to feel for the windowsill. The edge of the windowsill is slippery and her months of exercising is being put to the test. She slowly lowers herself onto the ledge and grasps the curve of the window that’s been left open a crack before she falls back.
Not wasting a moment to consider her quick breathing, she inches the window open by small increments, it’s soundless, a previous visit oiling it into silence.
She’s inside the house.

Poems: #NationalPoetryDay

Prayer to Death

We ask for more time, we do not want forever,
We look to you and say; never say never.

We’ll try to be happy and full of joy,
To look upon each day like a brand new toy.

Through the loses and the pain,
We’ll treat experiences like a gain.

So give us an hour, a minute or a second,
So we can say goodbye when death finally beckons.