upcoming novella

Just in case anybody is interested…sure. there might be somebody. One body. a person who is interested.

yah.

I’m working out the bugs in my novella to publish. It’s the planned opening frame for the new series I’m writing with Theta Mae as the main protag.

So here’s a bit of that, just out of curiosity. Feel free to tell me how wonderful I am, or conversely, curse the heavens that i put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard)

Before

Wa-whump. Wa-whump. Wa-whump.

Darkness. Floating.

Space.

Wa-whump.

Warmth. Wa-whump.

Contentment.

Dark still. Wa-whump. Wa-whump. Floating free. Less space. Wa-whump. Wa-whump. Wa-whump. Love comes. I’m warm.

Her heartbeat is clear, even here in this darkness. I hear two heartbeats, but they move together so they could easily be one sound with just the merest of echoes coming after. There’s less room for me to move than before. Still, I feel wanted; everything is as it should be. She speaks to me through the thin veil of skin that separates us, and traces the bottom of my foot. I press against her hand with the part that is my sole and I hear voices then.

They speak to each other, those on the outside. Her voice, familiar now even though I’ve only heard it few times before, sounds without and within, echoes as my own heartbeat does, as sound waves moving through water. While this other, a brusque voice, sounds muted, disconnected.

She speaks to this other, “The time is near.”

He answers back. “Yes?”

And then his hand presses against my bottom. I can’t help but squirm away from it.  His touch is not tender like hers. Only she knows how to press gently against her skin to feel mine against it, as if we were one flesh and that my sense is her sense. We are one. I take her air. I take her food. I take her blood. From her bones and flesh she has stitched this garment for me. And I must remember when I am born that I should be eternally grateful. I hope I can remember.

The space she has provided is too small now. There’s less and less air in the liquid that moves into my mouth and down into my lungs. I’m cramped. I need air, real air with a shimmer of golden rays. Those rays that come from the great mother, the great father that I remember so vividly from before the time when I was here. So great is that presence that it shines throughout eternity, yet it’s not strong enough to find me in this confined womb. I have been away from that grace too long. I’m tired of imbibing it secondhand, through my belly, through her blood. It is used up before it gets to me, and I need to get to the outside. I need to feel grace on this fleshy garment and have it transformed into my breath.

If I stretch…if I press my feet against her skin, and my head against her bone, I may be able to find the air. The grace.

Thea Atkinson is a writer of character driven fiction.

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All Thea's novels are available on Kindle, Nook, Sony, and Kobo

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