Rising In the Sunset(my first short story)

[RJHarmony84]

HI, this is my first ever short-story and I am SOOOO thrillled to get it finished! I've been working with an online sci-fi-fantasy writer's workshop, so this is my 3rd draft of it, but I hope to get it published if I can. Also, originally all the animal's speeh was in italics, but it was too difficult to do here. And yes, it's about me, although a lot of it is different from my life. I'm putting it in in sections, because I can't fit it in whole, and I don't know if I can do an attachment or not, lol. Please tell me what you think!

Rising In The Sunset
(a short story)By Helena Rafter
August, 2005


A soft breeze blew past the old pet cemetery, ruffling the grass and bringing with it sweet hints of wisteria flowers. Eight wooden crosses stood as quiet guardians there, and an air of solemnity and memory hung about the place. The playful gust of air danced about the somber crosses, and as it did it changed; breeze became breath, breath breathed, and spoke—in a whisper, as soft as a cat’s fur.
“She’s here again.”

It was one of those bland late-summer evenings, when Silvia returned to Covenant Wood Farm. She stood in the drive with her husband, suitcase in hand, and stared in sad recognition. Twenty years had been hard on the place; the old farmhouse was still standing, but barely, brimful of mouse nests and dust. The hill and meadow were thatched with weeds, the grass brown and dry, and the trees were slowly encroaching on the vegetable patch. The scent of the flowers on the hillside was so familiar to her—curly horsemint, red clover, and wisteria intermixed in a wild tangle. As she climbed the drive, she could see the three ancient sugar maples, their shady bases now covered in tufts of St. Johnswort and Rosemary.
She caught a flash of her younger self, sitting in the dirt, laughing with her mother as they planted Daffodils and Star-of-Bethlehem. But of those, there were none to be seen. She shook her head at the memory, and thought of something else, avoiding it like a hot coal, for she knew it would burn her.
Her parents would have loved to see this place again, run-down though it was, but they were gone. She had not wanted to return here. She had a life elsewhere, things to do, goals to achieve. She had things to keep her occupied, if not happy. But a month after her divorce, her parents had died, and left the place to her. In the ensuing depression she had lost her job, and the apartment had been re-rented out from under her, so, here she was.
Silvia turned numbly away and hefted her suitcase, her eyes glazed with inner pain as she stumped along the rain-scarred earth of the driveway.
The spring evening wove itself into her senses like song, and she left her suitcase in the entrance of the house, crossing the rough wooden porch to gaze over the hills. The soaring curve of the hills rose in the distance, lifting her eyes to six o’clock sun. It hung fat and low, just starting to spread the extra sheen of gold up under the edges of the old maple trees. The rays hurt her eyes, and she lowered them, seeking out the property line along the road below.

“Look, Look, all! Our girl is here. She is in need. The Master must want us to teach her again.”
“Who are we to say what the Master wishes, old Dog? We are only animals!”
“I don’t know about that—but even so. Let us bring together the memories we keep. Look, All!
Guardians wake, Wake and Come!”
Silvia’s gaze wandered, following the edge of the meadow below the house, and her eyes were drawn to a small patch of shadow at the edge of the woods. She noticed several small wooden crosses there, planted haphazardly, leaning to one side or the other—as if the person who had put them there had not been strong enough to plant them very deeply. The sight piqued her interest for a moment; she walked through the tall grass to the site, paused, and gently straightened the old crosses.
She noticed that each cross had had a name, once, painted crookedly in white paint. The painted names had flaked off, and were unreadable. One stood out, though, a cross without any letters, just a small white turtle painted in the center.
I see. A Pet Cemetery, she thought. I wonder if it was mine? She knew she had had a lot of pets when she was young—somehow she hadn’t remembered this many. She shrugged and went back to straightening the crosses. A moment later, a cricket began to chirp, a bright reminder of the coming evening. She turned away, and crossed the meadow to unload her luggage.

 

[RJHarmony84]

In the small graveyard, a minor commotion was brewing.
Another, and yet another whisper stirred the air as one by one the animal spirits awoke, rousing themselves and gathering to the call of the old dog’s ethereal bark. They filled the air with a softening, a sort of mist, and each stood by its own place of residence.
“Sound out, All. Let us know you hold to your Guardianships.”
“Aye Amm Snakke. Aye hold ttruue.”
“Rabbit here. I hold.”
“I am Guinea Pig. I hold, certainly.”
“Ah be the Leopard Frog. Ah hollds.”
“I am myself, and my self be the Cat. You know that I hold.”
“I am Old Turtle. I am holding on.”
“Then as All here have spoken, so I speak as well. I also hold to my teaching, and to my Silvia, who planted us here.”
“Lloook, the grasss iss ttall. Hasss it been ssso longg? Aye remember itt ssstill ssso clearly.”
“Wait your turn, Snake. All may bring their memories to Silvia. Let Cat be first—she woke before the rest. Then we will see what we may teach, through the memories in our girl’s heart.”
The spirits watched patiently through the minutes, waiting for Silvia to return. In a few minutes time she did, for now the luggage was all indoors, and she really didn’t feel like starting to unpack just yet. After all, they had just arrived, and her wrists ached, they way wrists will when you’ve been walking about lugging heavy cases. She made her way wearily to side of the cemetery, where a large flat block of sandstone sat. Sinking down onto the day-warm stone, she saw that the sun had begun to set, and turned her face to it as if to drink in the light. The air around her almost seemed to glow with the radiance of it…
Thus the evening stood ready, and the Cat began its tale. It spoke as the gentle spirits will, not to the ears, but to the heart of the young woman sitting before them…

“I was small and striped gray, once.
I was born in a box in a dark place, and my sweet mother came to feed me. A man was there—he frowned at me and made loud sounds. He fed my mother, and he seemed to love her, but his voice was in a growl when he looked at me. I made many protestations of love, I even purred for him. But my skills were untrained and I failed to capture his affection. One day when I was weaned, he snatched me up and put me into a horrible box. The box shook for a while, tossing me about, and then sat still, and I was alone. Time passed, and I starved for food and company; I cried, but no one came to my calls. I tried to chew my way out, but it had been shut tight. After a long time the box got wet and fell apart. I lived my first life as a cold and lonely creature, bereft of all companionship and hungry every hour. I was young and strong at first—and though I traversed many a hill and vale, was attacked by Wild Dog and Jaybird and Crow, I survived and carried on. A few friendly hands fed me on my way, and it became my habit to practice my growing skills at farms as I passed by. I was happy, for a while, living this way.
Then one day, a vision appeared before my travel-weary eyes; a glorious child, with soft paws full of hope and succor. She was gentle, quiet, and left my food out regularly—and slowly I came to depend on her. Thus, my life had changed forever. I clung to this dream, this saint-child, and was rewarded—she fed me tender meats, gave me a warm, soft bed, made me toys, and played with me so as not to leave me bored. She even gave me a name.
I showed my gratitude, keeping her safe at night, singing her to sleep and leaving her gifts whenever possible. I even came to love her, after a while. I was her comfort, on waking after nightmares, for she had heard that cats see in the dark. I was her companion, in rest and in play.
She had other pets as well—none could compare to me, however, and her love for me was indeed flattering. I was free to wander this very wood, if I so pleased, but had grown older, now—my limbs were stiff, my fur not quite as glossy as it once had been. Last of all I felt my death upon me, and wandered off, to spare my Silvia the discomfort of my death. You found me, even so, after I died, and gathered my empty shell in your arms and howled, as if you were singing my night-songs back to me! For she had come to trust that I would always be there—and she discovered then that all things die.
So I passed on to this life, and was buried here, and the Master told me I am a Guardian of her heart. She set this cross over me, for my honor and grace, and cherished my memory, so long ago. Hearken, Silvia! Death cannot cancel out a lifetime of love!”



The story shone with love, and Silvia stirred on the boulder. A feeling of sudden sorrow swept through her, caught in her breath, and made her shake her head in annoyance. She closed her eyes for a moment to fight back tears, beading from a fresher wound, and caught a sudden flashing memory of soft fur…but the memory that Cat sought was old, and had been hidden too long. It would not resurface. The strange feeling in faded away again, leaving Silvia to avoid a newer pain.

 

[RJHarmony84]

The Guinea Pig spoke up, then, in a portly voice.

“You owned my mama, and bred me from the first. When I was just week’s days old, you gave me the hutch the Rabbit had left behind; learning from the Snake, I suppose, you kept strange hands from touching me too much. I loved you from the very beginning, Silvia. You held me every day, and petted me to make me happy—I would purr to tell you that I loved you, too! You taught me to lay on my back, or eat from your fingers, or sit up on my hid legs and beg; and also to never bite at my three siblings.
Your hands were always soft, and smelled like the carrots and tomatoes you fed me. Once when I was too young to know better, I bit your finger thinking it was food, and you dropped me and cried. The awful taste made my eyes weep. I was so sorry! I learned to sniff my food well before biting, and to lick your fingers, which you loved.
We had such happy times, we two! I would leap into your hands and squeak for joy when you came near. You used to set me in the circle of your arms, out on the grass, and lay there watching me eat the Dandelions, and keeping Cat away. You kept me safe, and after a while, you even let me visit a friend or two, others like myself. I gave you five piglets, once, and they were beautiful—so beautiful you cried when they were grown and had to go.
I’ll shorten my tale for you, my dear, for my love is too great to tell it all. After a long and happy life with you, I caught a dripping-nose sickness. You sat by my side all night in sorrow and fear, but in the night passed away in my sleep. Forgive me! I did not wish to leave you. You were as dear to me as I was to you! But it was my time to go, and so I went. You gave me such a funeral! Flowers, lace, and a little coffin to keep my bones secure. The Master greeted me with great affection…and told me I was to keep a teaching here for you.
Hear me! Forgive the dead, for dying—and remember all the love we shared!”

And the young woman shivered in a sudden chill—an unshaped idea lurked briefly on the edge of her mind, as faint as mist—and was gone again. Suddenly she felt so alone, so lost…She spoke aloud to the clouds to dispel her fear.
“Well, I’ll depend on myself from now on to make me happy. There’s no one left to lean on. So I’d better get used to it.”
The words echoed strangely in the evening air, and she felt more alone than ever.

Then Frog spoke worried, hurriedly, for fear he too was lost to their dear Girl.

“Dearr Girrl, ye caught me up when Ah was eggg, and rraised me on yer own. Do ye not rrecall?
Ye kept me safe an warrm and fed, in a grreat glass jarr, atop a window-sill. It was in yer own bedrrooom. Ye used to sit and starre at me fer hourrs, waiting waiting waiting fer me ter swim aboout. Ye gave algae and waterr-plants to eat, when I was a tadd, and ye changed the waterr often so I could brreathe. Ye caught grreat lots of flies and bugs every morning, an’ every evenin, an’ fed me so Ah would grow up fat and strong. And then one day ye left me jarr-lidd off, and up Ah hoppt, ter see what Ah could see. But ye passed by, and missed ma small shape in the hall. Then I were stepped on. Ye cursed yer self then, for the first time in yer life, and ye blamed yer self fer killin’ the frog ye loved. But ye didn’a stop…ye blamed yerself for everything after that. And Masterr of All came to me, to tell ye not to treat yerself too roughly! For wounds can’t heal, can they then, when ye go pickenn at ‘em and makin’ em bigger!”




A sudden gusty breeze disturbed the woman’s hair, ruffling it wildly, as if it were trying to get her attention too—something felt so odd about this place and these graves. She felt a sudden weight on her soul, a wisp of an ancient offense pressing down on her head. It made her angry, something inside her resisting the claim of an unknown offense…The sun was dipping its rays delicately into the horizon, like a bather testing cool waters. A chorus of crickets joined the first, and tuned their fiddles furiously, and fireflies began to blink in the shadows.
The hand of some extraordinary painter painted the grasses and trees in softening tones, and shaking her head, Silvia lifted her eyes and the weight in her soul to light, stubbornly forgetting her anger, forgetting her pain.
Now the Turtle spoke, in a voice full of ageless calm…

“I was born ten years before you were, Silvia, and lived a good, full life in the woods. I listened to the heartbeat of the earth, and deep in the dark I heard the earthworms move. I hibernated in the cool dark mud, when winter came my way.
On the day I met you, I found a patch of hard black ground, and foolishly tried to cross it. A quarter of the way across, I was crushed by great black boulder rolling over my shell. This is was where you found me.
Dear Silvia, my time with you was just a blink—shorter even than poor Mole or Snake. You saw me on the road, still struggling, and had pity for me. Your Father told you I was dying, but you knew—you understood what I needed from you. You took me gently on a soft cloth, covered my head to give me shade, and left me by the pond to die in peace. I was the last you cared for, before you left the farm, and buried me here in honor, to rest, free and un-named. You knew me just an hour, and you cared; I gave you nothing, and you gave me my death in comfort. These are the words my Master gave to me, words you already know so well. Death comes to all, but Death can be kind--and sometimes even necessary.”

A comfort flowed over the woman’s thoughts, a sudden balm so sweet she nearly cried. But she had learned long ago to call her tears a weakness, and became angry, telling herself to be strong. And in her shame over weeping, the feeling of comfort passed.

 

[RJHarmony84]

The Dog was last, and humbly began his life’s recitation…

“My Girl, I came to you as a young puppy, brought by your parents from the shelter on your 4th birthday. How you glowed when you saw me!
For eight whole years I barked and wagged my tail at you, begged for food, whimpered when you cried, and howled when you sang. I gave you a litter of puppies,
I was with you long before you came to this farm, and we romped on a different hillside. It smelled of Locust flowers there, and pine, and we used to dig up Sassafras roots to chew. You left two other there, that you once knew. Two ducklings, grown to fat white ducks, who you set free on a lake deep in the woods—but they were not wood-wise, and were caught by a fox. You could not stand the memory of their blood! You told yourself that they had flown away south, and you said it so many times you came to believe it. I was with you then, in your pain, to lick away your tears!
One day your parents said we were moving, and that night you asked me to stay beside your bed. A week went by, the happiest week of all, and you let me do everything I’d ever wanted. Some visitors came to see me, with a boy, and they played with me too for a while. Then you and your parents took me in the car, and dropped me off at a house where the visitor family lived.
Girl, I know why you do not remember us! You planted my cross by the boulder first of all. I wasn’t even dead yet, but to you, for I died in your heart and your life, if not in truth. You came to visit me once more, years after you left, and I had no way to show you I remembered. You left thinking I had forgotten you completely…But my Master has finally given me a voice, to tell you that I care. My message is this, and may it serve you well—You may now walk though life in sorrow and shame. Yet strive for love and happiness to fulfil you, or you may always walk as you are, forgetful, wandering in mist, and never see the beauty to counter your pain.”

Silvia stirred then, conflicting emotions swirling in her eyes. She seemed to realize that one of the crosses was not for a grave—she frowned and plucked it up as if to throw it away, as a meaningless token, but stopped, undecided. She remembered something…faint and far away…a dog, perhaps? A flood of mental pain overwhelmed her, so strong it physically felt like a screaming migraine. She opened her streaming eyes and stared hard at the half-sun sinking fast before her, focusing on the light until se saw spots. She thought about the sun; she thought about spots; she thought about sunspots, then solar flares, and flares brought her back to anger. So she used it, shaming herself for her weakness, and pushing the flood away.


“Now, All! We must remind her. Speak! Speak your Names! Speak your love!”
“I Am Misty. Death is not an ending to love!”
“Aye amm Sssnakey, and Aye sssay ssset Love free!”
“I am Lum-Lum. Cherish what you have!”
“I am your Peanut. Forgive us our dying, and remember life!”
“Ah’m Prince. Don’ blame yerself fer things ye couldn’t help!”
“I am Turtle, grateful and unnamed. Remember, Death can be necessary, and so can Change!”
“I am Sissy, given a way to reach you. Don’t forget past hurts and lose future joys!”
“Together we reach, your pets, your memories all! Let us see our teaching did not go to waste!”

The Woman had replanted the cross, and stood before it, wondering. The name on the cross was so familiar, and she felt a deep throb of pain that usually preceded a bad memory. She felt drained, the crosses itching in her mind, the familiarity so strong that she sat down among them to get a closer look.
What is it with these crosses? Did I even put them here? I thought I did. Who were all these pets? Did I love them? I must have, so then why, why can’t I remember??
She bent her whole mind to remembering, anything, any old scrap from when she’d been here last. So much had happened since then! Her parents had moved into house in the city when she had been fourteen. Ten long years had passed since she had started college. She had finished six years later, and married a man she loved. He had found her a great job drafting grants for a good company, something she even liked, for the most part. Then he had up and left, without a trace. A week ago, her father had simply died in his sleep, and her mother just days later of a broken heart. The memory of it burned like the sun, which shone in her eyes, distracting her—she tried to concentrate—she was remembering the time at the farm, not her failed marriage, not her lost job, not her parent’s death. Each time she reached for the memories, she felt her mind push them away, ever eluding her, and each time she’d wander away on another track. Time and again, she turned up unrelated facts, her past sifting by in her head, grains of sand spilling though a time glass, covering the bottom.
The memories spilled over the spirits waiting for her response; they looked deep, and found that the lessons they had taught were there, and whole. But the memories, the joy, the pain, the love they had shared for so many years—it was gone.
Tears ran unnoticed down her cheeks, and she sat with her head in her hands, staring hard at the little crosses. A crimson-tinged cloud crept slowly to cover the last quarter of sun. Search as she might, the memories could not be unearthed. She had buried them too deep, and they were lost. She lifted her face, resigning herself to not knowing. It was just a bunch of animals, after all. What could be so special about that? She sighed, and felt the chaotic sense of need for the memories lift. Losing this battle with herself wasn’t really her loss at all—it was easier, much easier, to forget.
The spirits’ voices were now discordant, and filled with resignation.
“Sssee! Silvia, sshe hasss fforgotten usss! Ssshe doess not lissten to hher heart! Sssuch a sshame, for one ssso ssensitive before. What reassson do wee have ffor ssstaying hhere, now? If wee ssstay, we will be waiting ffor hher fforever!”
“Listen, friends! The girl we knew is gone; she has become a woman, and forgotten her childhood pains. She deals with bigger, stronger pains now. You all can see the memories she brings forth; don’t you see? She remembers the lessons we taught her, and that’s all. Whether she heeds them or not, that has always been her choice! We are not needed here. Let us go back to the Master, then. We have served our purpose, it is time to go.”
“Look you, Guinea Pig. You are right—indeed, we all would speak the same. But see how lost she is! Would you her leave now, seeing her so close to broken? We must at least try heal her, before we leave!”
“Ahhh, But whhat could we give hher, Cat? Sshe sstill cannot remember uss!”
“I bet we could give back her one memory, if we tried! Couldn’t we, Frog?”
“Aye, Rabbit, This may be truue. Ah think perhaps toggether, we could returrn one memorry to herr . But whose, what memorry could we agrree to give back?”
“Yesss. That isss the question, noww. Whossse? Aye for one amm not sssatissfied with returning mine. It isss to sshort, and it would heall her not at alll.”
“Listen to me! Our memories were not the only ones lost. She has forgotten many valuable things. Let us return to her one of these, and let our lasting love for her be enough!”
“Look, All. The Cat is right! The Silvia who was has forgotten her love of gentle spirits. I recall the ‘angel-houses’ she built long ago, to bring them to call—she left the angels gifts, but her love and faith alone would have been enough to gather them near. Remember the winged shapes she used to decorate the pine tree, in the winter? Her favorite things were those things mysterious and beautiful, those good spirits of the Master’s highest order. Perhaps she would call us angels now--but she thinks only of life now, and its rough course, like walking a stream and feeling only the rocks beneath her paws. Let us return to her that love! She may never remember us, but she will come to see and know the small mysteries of life again. She will grow again, the way she grew when we helped her long ago.
Are we all agreed?”
And so, with the Old Dog’s lead, the pets gathered up the last of their power. The breeze of their voices rose gently this time, soft from the west, and the Woman turned with it, away from the crosses, to watch the sunset there. It shone with beauty, dazzling her even with the wayward cloud drifting overhead. The air hummed with a strange sweetness, and she felt peace rush over her like a wave. Squinting into the rainbow of colored light, she thought she saw a mist pass before her eyes. She caught at the sight, and followed the trailing wisp up and up, into the brilliant sliver of the sun—and then she remembered. “Once, long ago” she thought, “I could see Angels rising in the sunset.”

 

[jukay]

awesome story!

 

[Paladin Dave]

I feel like such a wimp.... but that brought tears to my eyes. Very wonderfully done, my friend.

 

[RJHarmony84]

I feel like such a wimp.... but that brought tears to my eyes. Very wonderfully done, my friend.

*blushes furiously *

 

[JesusZone]

Nicely written RJ. I always like inspiring short stories. Our God is an awsome God that for sure. He is always there when we down and out, and there when we highly lift it up. No matter where our path lead us, he is always there. Keep up the good work.

Brother in Christ,

JesusZone