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Evolution of Kezia

Updated on April 6, 2012
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I awake shivering with damp, cool feet. I should be in bed in my grandmother’s house in Ravenscliffe. But instead I am…where? My hair blows about my shoulders like leaves tousled about on a windy, autumn afternoon. It is very late but moonlight illuminates a decaying building with bricks and mortar missing in such a manner that it glares back with an evil countenance. Viewing my surroundings, I feel the first seed of panic growing within my chest. My mind is still fuzzy with sleep but I notice large swaying oak and maple trees, a wrought iron fence surrounding the crumbling mausoleum and aging tombstones. My head is clearing and I look at the name on the tombstone I stand beside. Horrified, I see the name Kezia. My mind again fogs and I feel my body swaying. Reaching out for support, my hand latches on to the tombstone.

Now I am falling, spiraling, spinning. My mind has become a vortex focusing all energy upon a single point. “Pop!” The cemetery has disappeared and I am now standing on a widow’s walk. Below is a courtyard. I see through foreign eyes a handsome boy guiding a spirited mount over a difficult jump. Her (my) eyes watch as he and his mount navigate the jump flawlessly. Eyelids fluttering, I (we) touch my breast, my heart aching and look down at a medallion my fingers caress. On it is an intricate dragon trio. Inhaling deeply, my arm drops to my side. A single tear slips down my cheek and I brush it away. I gaze at the boy again. I know his name is William. I know that he has betrayed me (her). My shame intensifies from the longing I still feel. Fluttering movements in my abdomen distract me momentarily and I place my hand there. Concentrating on William, watching him, my feelings of humiliation and now anger intensify. Shuddering, I feel something give, a twinge that is feather-like but powerful at the same time. At the same moment, the young man’s horse refuses a jump. William is thrown from the saddle violently, plunging him headfirst into the solid post of the jump.

Although it is impossible that I hear it, the crunch of fragmenting bone echoes in my mind and I hear myself scream. Looking down upon William, I glimpse open eyes dull and staring. I scream again until I feel my head will burst.

“Whoosh!” Again I am racing along the superconductor that is my mind. Breathless, my heart pounding faster than should be possible, I am in the cemetery again. I snatch my hand off of the tombstone to sever my link with the force. Glancing at the name engraved on the stone, I force myself to read it all.

“Kezia Grainger. Born July 23, 1887. Died August 23, 1940. May she rest in peace.”

It is not my grave! Relief floods my body and yet there was a connection with this other Kezia. Frantic to be home, I search for any familiar landmark. It is a relief to see, bathed in moonlight, my grandmother’s house. My heart is hammering but the panic is fading. I can’t explain what just happen. So many strange things have come to pass over the past two months. But the pieces are starting to form a pattern. Soon I hope my mind will be clear enough to make sense of the puzzle that my life has become.

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    • Reynold Jay profile image

      Reynold Jay 6 years ago from Saginaw, Michigan

      Consider third person narrative too.

      Advice? Find it here in this award winning HUB and leave a comment, please.

      https://hubpages.com/literature/Watchdogg-Somalia-...

    • Becky Katz profile image

      Becky Katz 6 years ago from Hereford, AZ

      This is very interesting. I will not give you a story line but I will give you a hint Of what would be interesting and fit in. Read some of Ghost32's articles on reincarnation.

    • Teresa Coppens profile image
      Author

      Teresa Coppens 6 years ago from Ontario, Canada

      This piece was written in a writing class a while ago and has been sitting around in a file until inspiration to turn it into a novel hit. I've written more which I will publish at a later date. Work and kids activities have been my excuse for not getting back to it but I've dragged it out again. Wish me luck. Any suggestions or tidbits of wisdom would be greatly appreciated. I've always had much better luck with the short story version. I feel intimidated maybe with the idea of a novel but this story won't go away!

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