I really am working on something, but being the total pantser that I am, I need to figure out exactly what the story is! I guess I'll put an exerpt from my current WIP just to tease your reading-buds. Oh yeah, I so totally made that word up.
I was sitting on the beach. It was one I frequented often, normally full of people young and old. Today, it was empty. As I sat there, watching the waves crash on the beach, I heard someone sit next to me. His arm brushed up against mine as he scooted closer. Smiling, I reached out to grab his hand.
“Did I miss anything?”
I turned to face the man next to me and reached over to move a lock of dark brown hair that had fallen over one of his amber eyes. “Nothing big,” I told him. “I’ve just been watching the waves.”
“Let’s go for a walk.” He stood up and held out his hand. I took it and brushed off my shorts once I was up.
We walked just close enough to the waterline for the waves to roll up and kiss our toes. When we reached a pile of rocks at the end of the beach, he sat and pulled me down on his lap. We sat there for a while with his chin resting on my head while I snuggled against his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmured. “You don’t come around anymore.”
He sighed and was quiet so long I didn’t think he’d respond.
“I couldn’t.”
I sat up to look at him. “Why?”
“There’re a lot of things you don’t know about, Carra.”
“So, tell me.”
He brushed his hair back and blew out a breath. “I wish I could, but I can’t tell you here. Or now.”
“Well, when and where can you tell me?”
“Not here.” We sat staring at each other, him pleading with me to understand, me frustrated about being kept in the dark. He stood up suddenly. “Come with me.”
He helped me over the rocks until we were standing next to a rock that was oddly colored compared to the ones next to them. It looked like it was made out of abalone shell. Pinks, purples, and ivories swirled all over it.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It will lead you to a place that I can answer all your questions.”
I looked at him and lifted an eyebrow.
“Just put your hand on it and say síscéalí.”
My eyebrows furrowed together. “She’s kill?”
“No, síscéalí,” he repeated. “Shee-skee-al. It’s Irish.”
“Síscéalí,” I said slowly. I probably butchered the word, but he nodded his head.
“Good. Say that when you touch the rock, but don’t touch it yet.”
“What? When am I supposed to touch it then?”
He placed a hand on each side of my face and pulled me close. “Just trust me.” His lips pressed slightly against mine and then he was gone.
I turned in a full circle, looking for him. “Soren? Soren!”
I sat straight up in bed. I hadn’t thought about Soren in years. He was my imaginary friend when I was younger. During the day, we would spend hours playing in the apple orchard my parents owned. I wonder why I thought about him after all these years. I touched my lips gently and imagined I could still feel his on mine. It felt so real. He sure had turned out to be quite the hunk. Last time I remember seeing him, I was nine and he was ten. That was ten years ago. Sighing, I got up and went to the bathroom and stared into the mirror. Tangles adorned my light brown hair while the redness in my blue eyes accentuated my sleepless night. Twinkling sapphires, my mother used to call them. I looked up to my eyebrows and sighed. I grabbed the tweezers and got to work.
