January 28, 2014

A clip from the novel: Truth takes time



"Death's not that bad. I died once" said a voice from beneath.

She reached the surface of the water gasping for air so ferociously, there was a little less oxygen for everything else in the universe.
Shaking off the water that clung firmly to her mouth, skin and hair, she was so happy to be alive, again.
Observing every spec of her surroundings with razor sharp awareness, she clawed her way to the nearest mass of land.

Sand dug into her and sifted through her fingers, salt gashed throughout her bodies open wounds, as the sun dried and extracted her drenched spirit.

She moved forward with grace and dignity, unabashed.

“I made it” she whispered, afraid of what may hear her as she looked out beyond a horizon that held only nature and souls.

All her years making the impossible possible, the dead alive, the unlivable livable, she
found herself also believing she could make time move faster. 
No. As Emerson had described to her so many times about this journey she resisted for so long;
Truth takes time.
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