The Tempest Before the Halcyon
Hope #24: Where I direct the missing third act
Recap: Our narrator escaped her former (invisible) life to seek one of her own. After finding herself, her voice, and unexpected love, she’s able to narrate her story, making others see the truth. Now she wishes for a tranquil future. One with her children.
I step into the house that was never mine. Beaming photographs crowd the foyer, with dust-repellent shimmering surfaces. My vertebrae lengthen like a birch.
He poses on his heirloom armchair, a portraiture of poised performance.
“I see you’ve come to your senses. Took you long enough.”
It’s been raining nonstop, pelting hail in the daytime, turning into a drizzle on lengthy summer nights. Luke refuses to leave my side, and my parents are finally listening. My lawyers are rushing papers. But I had to meet him, just once.
“Yes, I did. You swiped my soul, and I’ve come to collect.”
Author’s Notes:
The above (100-word) tale is from a series called Hope I’m creating with May More 💜. Originally published on Medium (2024), we’re restoring it for Substack with stratified flavors and (hopefully) fresh reactions from you.
Cruelty exists in various colors and shapes. Growing up, I experienced the muted type, one that doesn’t need to raise its voice to make you edit yourself. When you act how it wants, let it manipulate each situation to its benefit, you’re standing in a desert where peace blinks on the horizon. The sand feels like it’s leading to the ocean.
You think to yourself, perhaps things are fine. Let me just get through today.
I’ve done it. I’ve seen others (close to me) do it.
And I’m still unlearning. Reclaiming pieces of myself.
I’ve been wounded by other assortments of malice, too, but this is the one that’s stuck. It has permanent residence in my brain. In dark moments, it resembles mold and self-growth, a meaningless act of scrubbing it with fresh water.
I’m an escape artist. Not like Hope, but a subtle sort. Over the years, I’ve gotten better at protecting myself. Excellent, even. My default reaction is set to flight. I create walls, push people out, and stay safe in my metaphorical castle.
I’ve conjured endless scenes in my head. Confrontation. Revenge. Where I walk into a room with my phone’s recorder on, and release what I’ve buried in one breath.
Face them and erupt like a volcano.
When we started writing this series, I didn’t know the direction. The destination. That Hope would be healing me. Would make me look at my past through a filmy lens.
I imagine her braver. And she filled the gaps I left unfinished.
Click here for the series link. Find the previous episode below.
that lastline!! just genuis.
And it is sooooo wonderful to think that Hope took you on your own healing journey, in a way
A good final line!