Brigit's Flame September Week 2: Eternal
I made it to week two! Here's the entry for the prompt "Eternal."
" Eternal rest grant unto her, Oh Lord,
And let perpetual light shine upon her.
May she rest in peace. Amen"
I could hear the priest’s voice intoning the final graveside prayer even from where I was standing, away from the other mourners. It was early fall and beautiful, the trees not yet turned and the sky an intense cloudless blue. I was becoming warm in the light jacket I’d thrown on over the sleeveless black dress I’d decided would be appropriate to wear, for the weather as well as the occasion. I slipped it off as I watched the conclusion of the ceremony from behind a large tree, many yards away from where my sister was being buried.
The crowd began to break up. I could hear murmurs of, “She had a good, long life,” as mourners left the tented area and began heading toward their cars. Only an elderly man and several middle-aged women remained behind. Paul, I supposed, and - it must be - my once-baby nieces. Paul reached out his shaking hand and patted the coffin before one of the sisters took his arm and began to walk with him away from the gravesite. Even from where I was, it was easy to tell that Paul was crying by the way his shoulders shook.
I should have been with them. My appearance at Elly’s funeral, however, would have been impossible to carry off, and staying a safe distance away behind the gnarled tree is the best I could do to honor my sister. We have led very different lives, and it has come to this.
I watched Paul and my nieces, and two men I assumed were husbands, get into the limousine for the ride back to the funeral home. It would be a while yet before the gravediggers came to complete the internment., so I stepped out from behind the tree and walked agiley around the markers and memorials to where the casket lay on the dais. Paul and the girls had chosen well, a rich mahogany with a carved border design resembling waves. Appropriate, as Elly was a Cancer - a water sign. I share that with her, although I also have the tormented intensity of a Scorpio’s nature. As I will forever.
I stroked the sleek, polished wood with my hand, which should have been lined with veins and rigid with arthritis. I am proud of my hands, which are soft and elegant from the manicures I get weekly. And they are still so very young looking. Elly’s were, too, the last time I saw her, nearly 55 years ago. She had been standing on the front porch, holding baby Sarah, with Abby and Susannah playing underfoot. I had given her a light kiss on the cheek, squeezed her hand in parting, and walked off her porch to my destiny. None of them ever saw me again. It was best that way.
I don’t look a day older than I did that afternoon. My auburn hair is still falls in richly colored waves to the middle of my back. My fair Celtic skin is unlined, my figure still slim and shapely. While not exactly beautiful, I am pretty enough, and have had my fair share of lovers. But I must be careful with that, always ending any relationship before my timelessness becomes an issue that has to be discussed. There has been heartbreak in that, and my soul is scarred from it.
It began with the Book. Elly and I had taken the girls to the library for story hour and I had gone off on my own to peruse the shelves. The library was quaint, very old, and divided into three sections, the center one being round. There were many, many windows, stretching from floor to ceiling in the outer rooms. I loved this place. I had already found a few novels to check out and was looking through the non-fiction section when I spotted a strange title: “Spells and Other Charms.” Intrigued, I slid the book from its place on the shelf. It looked very old, and had no flyleaf or even publishing information. And inside were, actually, spells. Thinking the book would be, at the very least, interesting to read, I check it out with the others. I told Elly about the book on the walk home, with Sarah in the baby stroller, the others girls holding “Auntie Christina’s” hands.
“Just be careful,” she admonished.
“Oh, they can’t possibly be real!” I answered. “Somebody’s just made something up and published it for fun. They even made the book look old.”
After we arrived at Elly’s house, I gathered my books from Sarah’s stroller, said my good-byes, and left. Arriving at my apartment, I curled up on the sofa and began reading through the spell book. The room suddenly became very dark and I glanced around uneasily.
“I see you found the book.” This was spoken by a soft, charming disembodied voice. I couldn’t answer. I sat frozen, my muscles locked, terrified to move. “I’ve been waiting for you to discover it. By the way, I’m over here.” I looked toward the doorway of the dining room and there stood a beautiful woman of indeterminate age. “I’ve come for you, you see. The spells are your future, just like they were mine. I’m Gulia, and I’m a witch, just like you are.”
That’s how it began. My family mourned the strange disappearance of their lost daughter and sister, but time in its endless way moved on. Except for me. I am ageless, given eternal youth through one of the spells I discovered that day. But I am also eternally lost. The coven of witches Gulia introduced me to holds no interest for me. I wander from place to place, outliving everyone I come to care about.
I envy Elly her normal life, the husband and daughters and remaining friends who now grieve for her. I envy her this mahogany coffin.
" Eternal rest grant unto her, Oh Lord,
And let perpetual light shine upon her.
May she rest in peace. Amen"
I could hear the priest’s voice intoning the final graveside prayer even from where I was standing, away from the other mourners. It was early fall and beautiful, the trees not yet turned and the sky an intense cloudless blue. I was becoming warm in the light jacket I’d thrown on over the sleeveless black dress I’d decided would be appropriate to wear, for the weather as well as the occasion. I slipped it off as I watched the conclusion of the ceremony from behind a large tree, many yards away from where my sister was being buried.
The crowd began to break up. I could hear murmurs of, “She had a good, long life,” as mourners left the tented area and began heading toward their cars. Only an elderly man and several middle-aged women remained behind. Paul, I supposed, and - it must be - my once-baby nieces. Paul reached out his shaking hand and patted the coffin before one of the sisters took his arm and began to walk with him away from the gravesite. Even from where I was, it was easy to tell that Paul was crying by the way his shoulders shook.
I should have been with them. My appearance at Elly’s funeral, however, would have been impossible to carry off, and staying a safe distance away behind the gnarled tree is the best I could do to honor my sister. We have led very different lives, and it has come to this.
I watched Paul and my nieces, and two men I assumed were husbands, get into the limousine for the ride back to the funeral home. It would be a while yet before the gravediggers came to complete the internment., so I stepped out from behind the tree and walked agiley around the markers and memorials to where the casket lay on the dais. Paul and the girls had chosen well, a rich mahogany with a carved border design resembling waves. Appropriate, as Elly was a Cancer - a water sign. I share that with her, although I also have the tormented intensity of a Scorpio’s nature. As I will forever.
I stroked the sleek, polished wood with my hand, which should have been lined with veins and rigid with arthritis. I am proud of my hands, which are soft and elegant from the manicures I get weekly. And they are still so very young looking. Elly’s were, too, the last time I saw her, nearly 55 years ago. She had been standing on the front porch, holding baby Sarah, with Abby and Susannah playing underfoot. I had given her a light kiss on the cheek, squeezed her hand in parting, and walked off her porch to my destiny. None of them ever saw me again. It was best that way.
I don’t look a day older than I did that afternoon. My auburn hair is still falls in richly colored waves to the middle of my back. My fair Celtic skin is unlined, my figure still slim and shapely. While not exactly beautiful, I am pretty enough, and have had my fair share of lovers. But I must be careful with that, always ending any relationship before my timelessness becomes an issue that has to be discussed. There has been heartbreak in that, and my soul is scarred from it.
It began with the Book. Elly and I had taken the girls to the library for story hour and I had gone off on my own to peruse the shelves. The library was quaint, very old, and divided into three sections, the center one being round. There were many, many windows, stretching from floor to ceiling in the outer rooms. I loved this place. I had already found a few novels to check out and was looking through the non-fiction section when I spotted a strange title: “Spells and Other Charms.” Intrigued, I slid the book from its place on the shelf. It looked very old, and had no flyleaf or even publishing information. And inside were, actually, spells. Thinking the book would be, at the very least, interesting to read, I check it out with the others. I told Elly about the book on the walk home, with Sarah in the baby stroller, the others girls holding “Auntie Christina’s” hands.
“Just be careful,” she admonished.
“Oh, they can’t possibly be real!” I answered. “Somebody’s just made something up and published it for fun. They even made the book look old.”
After we arrived at Elly’s house, I gathered my books from Sarah’s stroller, said my good-byes, and left. Arriving at my apartment, I curled up on the sofa and began reading through the spell book. The room suddenly became very dark and I glanced around uneasily.
“I see you found the book.” This was spoken by a soft, charming disembodied voice. I couldn’t answer. I sat frozen, my muscles locked, terrified to move. “I’ve been waiting for you to discover it. By the way, I’m over here.” I looked toward the doorway of the dining room and there stood a beautiful woman of indeterminate age. “I’ve come for you, you see. The spells are your future, just like they were mine. I’m Gulia, and I’m a witch, just like you are.”
That’s how it began. My family mourned the strange disappearance of their lost daughter and sister, but time in its endless way moved on. Except for me. I am ageless, given eternal youth through one of the spells I discovered that day. But I am also eternally lost. The coven of witches Gulia introduced me to holds no interest for me. I wander from place to place, outliving everyone I come to care about.
I envy Elly her normal life, the husband and daughters and remaining friends who now grieve for her. I envy her this mahogany coffin.