Creative Gene Syndrome
Once upon a time there was a girl. I’ll call her Sally. Sally had dreams. There were those who thought Sally was a little strange, but they didn’t know her. While other children weren’t content to play by themselves and would throw tantrums because friends weren’t allowed over, Sally was totally okay being on her own. Sally read so much she’d wear out her library card over the summer. She’d play with her dolls for hours, draw beautiful sketches or ride her horse to the mountain top and stare out over the valley below. Those who knew Sally knew she acted the way she did because she carried the creative gene.
When she looked at tree trunks or the clouds in the sky, Sally saw an elf doing a tap dance, a wolf leaping from boulder to boulder or something outlandish and absurd to those with her. She saw pictures in the strangest places—every plane of wood or grain of tile carried a tale, and Sally would weave stories to go with them. People would wonder about her, but they would listen with interest to the story she told.
As Sally became a woman, she longed to express the thoughts and the images that gnaw inside of her, but the people in her world said you can’t. You must stop being the dreamer and do something productive with your life—something that will benefit mankind. So, Sally laid aside her dreams, hushed the voices inside of her and followed the advice of others.
New calendars replaced the old many times over and each time Sally saw a teakettle or lion cub in an indigo sky, the voices tears filled her heart. Then, a child entered her life and soon after Sally whispered a tiny tale into his ear and the child smiled. Her delight at seeing his happiness tore a peep hole in the black veil she’d draped over the voices and Sally told him another story, and another, and another. Sally filled her lungs with a joyous laughter for the first time in years. She was being who she was supposed to be, a storyteller. And at that very moment, Sally realized every dream does have a purpose.
Excerpt from EVIL'S WITNESS
After a week, her touch was familiar. His heart melted. He grabbed her hand, holding her in place as he turned and smiled down on her. Her nipples pushed against her white T-shirt. He gently brushed a knuckle across one peak. “No. It was hell without you.”
“Mmmm. Same here.” She pulled back and lifted his arm around her, curling into him.
Looking out over the lake, she sighed. “I could stay here forever, if you’d let me.”
“I wish we could.” He gathered her closer and kissed the top of her head. “But eventually Bobby and Em would have to go to school.”
“I could home school.” Her chuckle was strained.
He felt her pain. He smiled while his heart wrenched. He would like nothing more than to forget about the world and stay here with her and the kids. But they couldn’t. “Sooner or later Ben will call. We’ll have to go back.”
Steph moved away. A cold void took her place.
She drifted to the other porch column. Leaning against it, she folded her arms across her chest. Her lips pressed together as if she was forming the right words behind them. “I know I said that our time together here was going to be enough to last me a lifetime, but—” Tears brimmed her lids. “I was wrong. A lifetime won’t be enough.”
John stepped toward her. “I don’t know what—”
“I know; you don’t know how we can be together. So, Ben will call. We’ll go back, and I’ll identify Victor. You’ll toss him in jail and throw away the key. You’ll drive off in pursuit of the next bad guy and me…Well, I’ll go home and wonder where you are. Wonder if what I felt was love.”
The woman knew how to make a guy feel like a heel.
John pulled her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest and cried softly against him. He kissed her head and smoothed her hair. “Steph, I didn’t think I’d ever love again,” he whispered softly, cupping her chin and tilting her face up until she looked at him. “Like a bomb, you dropped into my life. Every defense I’d put up to protect myself from ever being hurt again came tumbling down. You opened up my heart. As much as you don’t want to live without me, I don’t want to live without you. I love you."
He kissed her gently. Her arms wrapped around him and held on. “Somehow, we’ll figure this out. I promise,” he assured her.
No part of this post may be used without the expressed permission of the author, Autumn Jordon.