Another Writing Sample

This is the eighth chapter of the Wormwood Prophet. Though it is rather short, it is one of my favorites thus far.

The Queen walked on the path beaten by the mourners of the past thirteen days, beaten by her frequent trips to the King's tomb, and she sighed as she went. Her lantern dangled, ringing against the rod she held it by, and she stepped softly. To a watchful eye, the blades of grass bent down before her stride. To a sharp nose, the aroma of incense clung to her. To an attentive ear, the empty hills sang with her presence. Wrapped in a black cloak and having her long dark ringlets fall about her, the girl could hardly be separated against the night.

At age twelve, Amy Wize had never been one for crying, but as she glanced up and saw the tomb laying before her, she faltered.

Black stone walls rose firm and solid above her, and the dark steeple merged with night sky. Stone angels, carved into the walls, played harps, sounded trumpets, and strummed guitars. Had it not been the tomb of her father, Amy might have thought the building was beautiful.

Amy ambled across the stone walk and opened her lantern. The flames she had lit the previous day had died, but smoke still hung in the air. Melted wax covered the surface of the altar, and she made a note to herself to clean it when she visited again in the morning. Amy took a thin stick from her cloak, lit it with the lantern’s fire, and set a new candle aflame.

“May you rest in peace, father.” Closing her eyes, Amy tried to wipe her mind of the last two weeks, but all she could see was her father’s face, without color, devoid of strength, in the hospital. All she could smell was the scent of sanitizers and plastic gloves. All she could feel was the pressure of her hand in his as he passed. He held her so tightly, then his grip left her, and he was gone. Gone forever.

She opened her eyes, wiped them, and sniffed. Written in stone, his name twinkled in the firelight. “I had hoped.” She looked at the name and thought of how permanent it seemed. “I had hoped it would work out this time.” She sighed, kissed her fingertips, and then placed them on her father’s name. “I love you.”

Amy closed her lantern and stepped across the stone walk. She stopped as soon as her feet met the soil. The blades of grass didn’t bend before her. The ground didn’t soften to her step. The crickets, the wind, and the owls didn’t sing to her, and the deep purple sky had turned black.
The Queen’s lantern rose, and her eyes narrowed. Her lips parted, and she trembled with recognition.

The most distant trees vanished against the darkness. Then the closer ones, and then everything became dark as though the scene had all been painted black. Her lantern flickered, and she didn’t move. This was the end, she thought, and the chill surrounded her. The lantern light held onto what looked like the last of its life before suddenly dancing wildly and turning white.
“Brighter,” she heard someone whisper, and the lantern rose.

Something was a approaching. A human-sized something. A boy. In the white lantern light, his blue eyes struck her like lightning. “Help.” His gaze shifted to the lantern. “Brighter.” The light burst from the lanterns frame, and Amy tossed the lantern forward. She closed her eyes as the light illuminated the field, as it grew brighter, as it broke through the darkness.

The grass bent before her. The ground softened for her. The crickets, the owls, and the grass sang to her once more. It was as though nothing had happened, as though the darkness had never come.

The only difference was the burnt plot of land where the lantern had landed and the boy now lying on his back in the grass.