Seren and Meredith prepare for bed without speaking, only partly due to the storm which makes it nearly impossible to hear anything else. Meredith can't help thinking of the first tale their grandmother had told them, especially about the ill will between human [colonists] and the aquatic natives. These thoughts keep her awake long after her sister has fallen asleep and, once again, she can hear the haunting music. As always, it helps her drift off to sleep.
Meredith wakes, completely disoriented, to chaos. As far as she can tell, she is no longer in her bed. In fact she seems to be tumbling through the water. She tries to cry out but can't seem to open her mouth at all. Managing to open her eyes, she can see herself surrounded by debris and her sister floating away. Then hands grab her and pull her even farther down, away from the remains of her home and family. Meredith struggles, trying to pull free of the hands, to get away to find her family and friends. The owners of the hands are stronger and she grows dizzy from being underwater and unable to breathe. This time Meredith wakes to find herself in a bed inside a bubble of air. As she looks around, she realizes the bubble is floating in the middle of the ocean. Above her, she can only just see light which suggests the morning sky. Below her is ever increasing darkness. There is nothing else around her and she huddles in the bed, shivering with fright and confusion. “You wake.” Meredith whips her head around, trying to see the source of the oddly muffled voice. “You fear. I not show self.” “Where are you?” Meredith frowns, some of her initial panic evaporating. “Near.” “What happened?” Meredith swallows hard, still looking around her for the source of the voice. “Bediel. They make storm. Bad storm. Break homes.” “The village is gone?” “All gone. People safe.” “People safe? But without the village...” “People safe. New homes. Safe homes.” “So where am I?” Meredith frowns in confusion. “You different. You hear song.” “That was you?” “Friends. Friends sing. You hear.” Meredith's frown deepens. “I don't understand.” “Language hard. Your people language hard.” “Okay,” Meredith thinks for a moment, “You said someone sent the storm, right?” “Yes. Bediel.” “Okay. And my village is completely gone? Nothing left at all?” “Yes.” “But all the people are safe?” “Yes. Saved many people.” “And they have new homes?” “Yes. Under storms. Bediel not hurt now.” “You mean underwater? But how will they breathe?” “Have air. Have homes. Have food. Good food. Not fish.” “I guess that's good,” Meredith takes a deep breath, “But you're saying I'm different somehow? Because I could hear your friend's music?” “Yes.” “But what does it mean? Why can't I just have a new home with my family?” “Need you. Stop bediel. Else family not safe long.” “But you said these bediel couldn't hurt them now.” “True. Yes. But bediel change. New hurts.” “So they'll keep finding new ways to attack until we stop them for good?” “Yes. You help. Make safe.” “But what are these things?” “Not explain. Not good. You not fear now. I show self.” “Okay.” Meredith swallows hard as the creature swims into view. It appears to be male, based on what Meredith can see of the humanoid torso. The arms and head are also humanoid although the hands only have three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a silver talon. But the entire body is covered with silver scales. His hair is long and silver and his eyes are big and brilliant blue. He has no nose and only a slit for a mouth with gills along his jaw and down his neck. The tail is that of a fish and ends in a blue, crescent moon shaped fin. His other fins are also blue. One juts out from his back and there are three down each of his sides between his arms and tail. As his hair moves, Meredith can see fan-like ears. He also appears to be quite short. Far shorter than Meredith. “What are you? I mean what do you call yourself?” Meredith is fascinated by the way he moves in the water. “People Pamoel. Me Lapa.”
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I have been writing since the primary grades of elementary school. I even still have a little bit of that work. To be fair, it is what one would expect of a second or third grade student. Most of those stories were for school assignments.
I started my first larger project in grade seven, out of a language arts assignment from a school reader. That story has never actually been finished, but generated a number of characters who have appeared in published novels and tales. But this was the first piece I remember taking home to write on. And I would continue to work on it and the stories of the various minor characters throughout high school and into university. Ultimately, at least two of the characters from that grade seven start would appear in my first published novel, although much altered from their early beginnings. I have been known to get lost in fleshing out worlds and characters. Some things change a lot in the process; some don't. It's an ongoing process and I'm always working on something. (The image attached to this post is of the Howling Wolf Books editions of my original Cemen Colony set, which are available, as of the posting of this, in both print and ebook) “I write to keep the characters in my head from driving me crazy.” - from my Goodreads profile, which I reiterate every time someone asks me why I write. The image above is also mine, taken for an Instagram challenge (I think) a while back. It is a legitimate question for me.
Because really, my writing is a means by which the characters in my head are able to tell their stories. Some of those stories make for neat novels and shorter 'tales' (because I can never keep my word count to a true short story.) Others make for a lot of notebooks and text documents which may or may not ever see the light of day. Living in a day and age where it seems people have lost any ability they may have had to separate the writer/performer/artist from their work, it can be scary to allow the character to tell their story as it happened to them. But that's the thing: If the character doesn't have a problem, the story has no plot. Stories without plots rarely make for enjoyable reading. All of which goes to say, my characters do things, say things, and have things happen to them which I would never condone one person doing to another in real life. The flip side of which is people do worse to each other in real life all the time. That still doesn't make it right or good. (Different issue, I know.) I can't not write. Even if I were to never publish anything ever again, I would still be writing. But since there are people who assure me that they love my work, I'm likely to keep publishing that which my publisher is willing to publish for me.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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