andy cannon
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Everything posted by andy cannon
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I am so sorry! That was left over from an earlier draft, but I have corrected that.
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Christopher arrived back in Penmere just before dusk. The train curved along the final stretch of coastline, and the sea appeared beyond the window with such sudden familiarity that something inside him eased before he consciously recognised why. The water lay grey beneath a sky streaked with pale amber where the sun had begun its slow descent. Gulls wheeled above the harbour entrance. The Tor stood beyond the town, dark against the evening light, as familiar as it had been every day of Christo
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Christopher packed a single overnight bag. He told the school he needed a day away before the half-term rush. Hannah accepted the explanation without question, though she studied him longer than usual before wishing him a pleasant break. He left before sunrise. The train climbed steadily away from the coast, following valleys that gradually widened into farmland. The last glimpse of the sea vanished behind wooded hills. Villages appeared where the stone carried a different colour and
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One would reasonably expect that with nearly twenty centuries of observation and cogitation that Vale could come up with a better response than "maybe?... I dunno" but here we are. Some answers in the next chapter... maybe? I dunno.
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Christopher did not seek Vale immediately. Three days passed after the incident upon the harbour wall, three days in which he returned to school, marked exercise books, attended meetings and attempted to behave as though nothing had changed. The effort became increasingly difficult. Memories continued slipping through the boundaries of ordinary life. A Year Nine pupil asked a question about Roman Britain and, for a moment, Christopher found himself searching for an answer in a language
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I prescribe a double shot of Highlands single malt and bed rest. Repeat as needed.
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I wish I could say that all would become clear in the next few chapters, but the I worry that the confusion may remain!
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Beats the cliche of miscommunication as the catalyst for a relationship crisis!
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--- Christopher had not intended to stay. The memory upon the Tor had left him exhausted in a way that sleep seemed incapable of repairing. Even after returning home, washing the dust from his hands and changing his clothes, he carried the strange conviction that somewhere beneath his own thoughts another mind continued speaking. He heard Celyn's voice before his own. Sometimes only for an instant. Sometimes for several minutes together. The distinction between them no longer felt
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Around ten more chapters to go.
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A memory came without warning. Christopher had stayed away from the harbour for most of the day. He wandered instead through the winding lanes above the town until his feet carried him, almost without thought, towards the Tor. The afternoon had settled into one of those still autumn days when every sound travelled farther than expected. Dry grass whispered against the limestone. Gulls and terns circled lazily above the cliffs. Far below, the sea breathed steadily against the rocks. He
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### Chapter twenty Christopher met Marco that evening in a cafe on the promenade. The western sky still held the last pale gold of sunset, though the sea below remained dark, its long swells folding steadily against the rocks. Fishing boats drifted gently at their moorings, their mast lights beginning to appear one by one across the bay. Marco leaned upon the rail, watching the water. He turned as Christopher approached. "You've been to see Vale." It was a statement. Chr
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That is my hope for all my scribblings!
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It's easy to do, especially when you are sharing so much high-quality content of your own!
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I know what you mean. I dredged up some thorny issues around civic responsibility and theology in my story about Medici-era Florence, but I am cleaning out a neglected part of my mental/emotional attic with this one.
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--- A few nights later, Christopher slept little. A brief storm had passed before dawn, leaving only the steady drip of rainwater from the gutters outside his flat and the distant wash of the tide against the harbour wall. Pale morning light crept slowly across the bedroom ceiling. Marco still slept beside him. Christopher lay awake watching him, the wayward dark curl that lay against his forehead, the way his mouth parted slightly in sleep. For the first time since the dream
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I have arrived at the conclusion that I may have focused on the wrong character in this story. While Christopher has the flashier, cinematic flashbacks and recovered memories, Marco actually has a more compelling arc... periods of happiness followed by intense grief, filling time between his beloved's appearances, not knowing if a reincarnation dies young before it is time to go look for him. He knows that Christopher will reappear in Penmere, but he can't wait there for him since it would be impossible to explain why the fisherman he has known all his life looks the same when Christopher is 27 as he did 20 years earlier. How did Marco learn that bitter lesson?
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### Chapter Eighteen Christopher woke before the alarm. For several seconds he lay still, staring at the ceiling while the events of the previous night returned in no particular order: the storm, the candles, Marco's hand in his, the kiss. He closed his eyes. For months he had imagined that if he ever crossed that particular line, everything afterwards would feel different. The world would tilt. Some hidden mechanism would begin turning. The sea might rise. The Tor might call
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Exactly! There had to be some reason they suffered through nineteen centuries of painful separations.
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Plenty more Sturm und Drang to come, but a respite is welcome!
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Christopher stood for a long time after the last memory faded. Rain had begun again. It drifted across the harbour in a fine grey veil, softening the lights reflected upon the water until every colour seemed uncertain. The fishing boats rose and fell gently against their moorings, ropes creaking with the tide. He ought to have gone home. Instead he found himself walking without direction through streets he had known since childhood. Nothing looked quite the same. The caf
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Christopher will ask a variation of that question in a couple of chapters. I'm just running behind your observations a bit.
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That is addressed to a certain extent in the next chapter. An interesting parallel story would follow Marco in all that time between when he finds Christopher again.
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Christopher expected the memories would come as they had before. One life. One death. A single thread unravelled slowly enough for him to follow. Instead they began arriving without warning, colliding with the present so violently that he no longer knew where one existence ended and another began. It started three days after his conversation with Marco. He was standing in the queue at the bakery before work when the woman ahead of him asked for a cottage loaf. The words struc
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After more suffering, a resolution will peak through the clouds.
