I hope not to alienate my readers by ending Short Story Weekly....and not necessarily forever, but at least for the foreseeable future. New content will be back up sometime in January. I'm taking a short hiatus, which means I'll be doing plenty of writing, but no posting. I wanted my novel up before the end of the year, but if it isn't finished, even with basic editing, it's not going to happen until I'm satisfied. However, the business side keeps me realistic in knowing it has to go up, so it will be finished when all the pieces come together.
I've been relentless, and NaNoWriMo is the end of this year-long gauntlet, and I plan to finish stronger than before. I've been happy with most of my short stories so-far, many of them being as obscure as I can make them. Still, this is really the last actual "short" story. The final story will require multiple reads. It's long, and maybe longer than even I'd want it to be, but with no proper word count, or even a proper barrier,mits going to be one of the longer posts, as I've reiterated before...even I'm shocked the life the story is taking....any longer, it'd be a novella. Still, I took the proper breaks, so it's not an absurd amount of reading.
This, however, is a short, sweet story, all-in-one, and a clarifying post that ties together everything I loved about these short story posts...that they are original, and ideal showcasings of my talent. In hindsight, I will miss doing these weekly, it'll be like kicking a habit, and yet, I feel great relief. Coming in January,know ever,meill be all-new posts: reviews, a bunch of previews and opinionated editorials. But until then...I'll leave you with this tale, one that I want to tell, one thwt is different, unwise, purposeful, and telling about myself. The title, however, is far than unique, it is a take on Peter S. Beagle's first novel: A Fine and Private Place. The story itself, nothing like the groundbreaking genius that Beagle wrote about, but it is, dare-I-say, a bit of a preview for myself for NaNoWriMo as much as it is of the last true short story I plan to do. This is:
Beyond the Private Place, It Grieves
"Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to speak with you again." The Sound of Silence- Simon snd Gsrfunkle.
"Even if we're six feet underground, I know that we'll be safe and sound." Capital Cities
Inside Moravian Cemetary, is a chaotic peace. Moravian Church, where the blessed sweet caroling if the church bells rings. A secluded place, secreted away behind coarse, raw iron gates. Cement in sorrows poured over granite. There I waited, behind a wall of scarred emotion. I couldn't leave my gravesite, not at first...a masoleum of great welsh and finite decay, but with staind gals that would break and crumble, but never lose its vibrant shine for even when ten armies roamed the shallower grounds. I learned over time to move about freely, not feeling discharged of any ill side effects from escaping my resting place, never a notion of fear to wandering far from my body's slumber.
I had been dead for over six years, and barely was able to make it past the bridge where the swans would come to visit every spring, and the ducks would be bobbing in the brook to eat the bread of passing visitors trying to bide the time between seeing their loved ones, and distracting the pain of their loss. Being dead, I didn't notice anything else but the living at first.
Envious of their bodies, I could dare the skinf selling off their dermis frying in the hot sun. I was shrewd, even througholy pissed thwt my eternity seemd to be spent on the same hallowed grounds I would visit to see my loved one's final resting place. Thwt too shamed me to no end: I was not surrounded by loved ones, as books of all civilizations have assured I would: no Grandpa Joe, or Aunt Ethel. No Mom, Dad, not even my first-born son Shaun, who died in a car wreck when he was thirty-five. I died at eighty, and my youngest son was five years older than Shaun had been alive.
I was alone. At first I thought this to be Hell, then Purgwtory, but I grieved in a shallow field, where the newest bodies would come. I walked through the Vanderbuilt Tomb at night, reading the names of the fallen aristocrats as they lined up by chronological order. I later on ventured through thenplotsmof the seldom boring, and trifle workers of the Industrial Age, and made. Y way up to modern Millennials that had fallen at a fairly young age. It made me weep tears that were nonexistent, but then it became as normal as sunshine is during rain.
I was still able to remember remnants of my life, even the day I wa placed in the ground. My dearest wife and eldest daughter thought that to me a masoleum would suffice. I enjoyed the erection of the plot, which had existed several years before my death. Still, what a delightful place to rest one's bones, as they say. The symmetry of the angels carved along the sides, and the giant Sans font of my name: ADAMS, stood out very lovely. At first, I was upset to realize that I wasn't "carrying on" or "going forward", but it wasn't without question. I even prayed again in death, something in life I've not done for so long.
God didn't answer me, nor did his faithful counterpart, the devil even come to my aide. I questioned the existence of even the very soul, which was something I might've been, something I must've been at one point, to even leave this sort of imprint across Moravian. Instead of fading into the backdrop,move grown stronger with each passing hour. Roaming the cemetary at night wa at first frightening....but coming to the realization of my own demise; which of course, I felt might have been what was holding me back, mind you, was a goregeous, serene experience, especially in the summer where the fireflies sparked throughout the entirety of the grave mounds. Still, I longed for completion. If I was meant to walk the cemetary for eternity, it's least it was a lovely one.
About six months after I was able to make it to the one edge of the cemetary without feeling a strange calling back to my grave, I realized I wasn't without limits. I couldn't breach the gates of Moravian, I could barely make it to the front entrance without the feeling of being pulled back to where it all need...or rather, all began. So with every futile attempt to go back to my house by South Beach, just off of Fingerboard and the Verazano Narrows, I was brought directly back to my resting place.
As the six years passed, approaching seven while staying in this place, I learned to observe the living...not necessarily envying them, nor pitying them...I just observed nonchalantly, as if watching deer graze, or a bird flutter about several trees searching for grubs. It was then I saw a kindred spirit, another dead like myself. At first I just thought I've caught a shadow off the edge of my sight, but no, it wa indeed another like myself.
The spirit, or whatever we were, appeared to be female, with long, flowing locks of vespers and whispers, something beautiful, yet untamed. I did not feel the emotions of the living, my being didn't fuel with heat, or flutter with an exactitude of youth with coursing blood. Instead I was more curious, and followed the being back to the gravesite of a Missy Sonnen. Once she noticed me, a vivid fright if discontent fell about the shrouded features she held. I tried to speak,mbut in six years,forcing air through a tiny sprite of energy was much harder than it seemed.
"Hello." It came out raspy, but friendly enough for someone who had not spoken a peep since his deathbed.
"She stood a fright, atop of gravestone, confused, but wary."
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you...are you Missy Sonnen?" It seemed an absurd questions, since we knew reguardless of either who we are, or were, Frank Adams, who I was once before, and Missy Sonnen were both no longer a part of this world. Yet it did raise the question if the body was Adams, of was what I was now Adams.
She hesitated, perhaps she too forgotten how to speak. After the first sound of my voice, it became like riding a bike again, and with ease I tried to comfort her with some humanity, though it felt odd.
"Come now, so not have fear, I know it's a terrifying thought to be dead, but lest you become horrified by the abstract concept, know thwt for nearly seven years, I've roamed this plane. Perhaps I was meant to meet you, some grand plan...perhaps we can help one-another cross over...and if there is no true other side, perhaps we can take comfort in one another's company, thwt is until, perhaps another comes along."
"Yes."
"Yes?" She turned her specteral head slightly, as though sizing up my retort.
"Yes, I am...was? Missy Sonnen. I was married to James Sonnen, he was a meager cobbler, nothing special, but he develop shoes at one point. He did well for himself, but I was more a housewife, I mildly regret not doing more...then again I wasn't sure that I was going to pass so...suddenly!"
I nodded in agreement, I passed as suddenly as the night comes on when a thunderstorm comes along.
"Same, a massive heart attack did me in, I can still recall the pain I once felt."
"I too fell from a heart attack...it was my first? And you?"
" I've been down this route before, after the first, I made sure to get all my personal effects in order, didn't want to leave a grieving wife with bills, she could mourn properly. It is such a difficult thing I feel. She re very visted my gravesite, she has brought new boquets nearly every month. I hope she can move on though. We were extremely close. She's a strong woman however, so I'm certain she will move on after a grace period."
"So you say...so, what is your name?" She asked. "Or what you were once called, however you see it, Mr.?"
"Frank Adams, of the Staten Island Adams, I grew up several blocks from here. I used to go to the flower shop across the street all the time, they have such a beautiful greenhouse. And you are Missy Sonnen, married to James Sonnen. A pleasure to meet you, although the circumstances seem to differ on that notion. I hope this meeting is not made any more awkward, given the circumstances, if I asked if you'd like to come join me at my gravesite?" To me, it came out sincere, but the macabre thought of inviting someone over to their gravestone seemed quite personal to the inviter, and very impersonal to the invitee. However, I remedied the obscure request by adding:
"I have followed you to your gravesite, and I intended no impasse, so it seems only fair you know where my bones lay as well."
"I suppose so, if you could just give me the directions, that would be sufficient as well...I'm certain I can make my way over there myself. I've been not of this world for several years, I've discovered how to reach most ends of this cemetary so-far. I've recently trekked over to the Vanderbuilt Tomb, such an impressive infrastructure. Though such aristocracy in death, not to sound coarse; is a bit egotistical if it suits your discression."
"One can admire even that which they find absurd, I'm sure. But I can direct you quite easily: I'm resting just across the bridge over the swan pond, I'm first the masoleum on the right. It is designed for myself, my wife when she passes....and my first-born son. I must admit, I'm both relieved, and saddened that he is not here with me, but hopefully he was able to pass beyond to something greater."
"My condolences. It must not be easy to lose a child. I never barred children...but I've adopted early on, it's a blessing no matter how one gets to become a parent, but I love my daughter to no end, even now, she's the only thing keeping me glowing in this cold, damp place. Thank you for the directions, I'll make why way over shortly, Mr. Adams, I aporia the gesture, and I'll bring scones if you supply the tea."
This request threw me for a loop.
"Pardon?"
" I was just making a joke, perhaps not the proper jest given the circumstances. My apologies."
"It's quite all right, Ms. Sonnen, it was quite a lightening statement on such a dreary circumstance. Thank you for making me giggle slightly...I'll let you be for now, so I shall see you back at my gravesite. So until then, have a good day."
"Same to you, Mr. Adams, and thank you again for the kindness, it does grow ever-so-lonely even amongst the gentle fauna."
I nodded to her, and made my way back to my gravesite, where I felt most comfortable, even after all this time. It was a quite, private place where I could rustle about my jingled mind, or what felt left of it, and discovered being dead was all rather easy. I had t had to do my constitutions, nor had I an appetite, as though I had more time now to focus on all the things the body grieves for, an existential path was all thwt laid itself out in front of me. I thought of the universe, and could almost feel the expansion of it reaching out into nothing, like fingers grabbing towards unknown crevasses. Honey holes of untapped knowledge.
I also thought of God, and His possible existence. Even in Death these mortal questions puzzled me...was there anything, or was this some exiting survival mechanism in the evolutionary scale? I felt at peace though, no worries,mor troubles, none mortal anyhow. Hours could pass in these long-hault thoughts.
Several hours later, I was thankful for being joined by Missy Sonnen, and admired my newfound friend's prescence. She was correct, it does grow so lonely, especially wt night when even the groundskeepers and undertakers leave for the day. They've always feared the concept of ghosts, mortals, yet I walked among them without even a thought, as though two ships passing the dark of night, just narrowly missing one another, breaching each other's hulls in dire peril.
I've attempted in the last to reach out to the living, but they do not want anything to do with the dead, they merely want to ward off the stench of death of these ESL, and cry about past grievances that had trespassed across their souls, which the axiom of "should've, would've, could've."
I took this into consideration with every futile attempt to gain their attention,mbut to no avail, and I respectfully came to the notion thwt the dead and the living are on two seperate plains of existence....they are behind glass, and wouldn't want to breach it for any sort of contact whatsoever.
"Well, I've arrived, it was quite easy to make my way here, this spirited form moves with such ease, as though I'm guided by wind, rather than muscles and tendons. "
I agreed, it was a bit easier to traverse the world, as though sliding on I've all about, and never crashing into anything....a continuing propulsion into eternity.
I'm glad you can make it, with all circumstances accounted for, of course. This is my plot though, I'm happy with the location. I was watching the ducks a few weeks ago, but now the waters are growing too cold, the leaves are particualy scarce on the trees. The world seems to be gracefully departing now, the foliage however is marvelous this year. My first year here, the leaves were gone halfway through August."
"It is lovely, espcially in the growing dark of the evening. Thank you for sharing usch privacy with me. A girl could take this as some form of betrothal, if we were alive, of course. Marriage for the dead, it seems overly preposterous. Seeing as God has abandoned us here...in such a fine position."
"Regardless of whether or not God has abandoned us, perhaps this is itself Heaven, perhaps this is an elegant eternity, I've gotten too much time on my hands lately. I've thought of every contingency., and I've not found anything that hasn't been lined ere before. Six years if nothing but your thoughts...you could figure out the existence of man in half the time."
We conversed for some time, hours didn't merit weariness anymore, and time passed with no effort, nor care. The sun was rising and falling again once we've decided to depart from one-another. I sat inside my mausoleam on her departure, and reflected on the hours that passed by prior. I've never looked wt my own body, not even the morbid curiosity thwt is in Man, I've still negated from looking at my rotting corpse, like a self-defeating sacrilege that should never be broken.
As time passed between myself and Missy, dewth became as mundane as life, just a different set of circumstances. Life grew of folly and freedom, Desth grew of ordinances, and time between freely flowing throughout a cemetary, and returning to a resting place before all thought and relation towards oneself left to a ghastly shell of what you once were.
Days, weeks, years, they were all irrelevant, time is for the decaying, circumstances however, were for the dead. Souls came and vanished without a trace, but it seemed thwt myself, and Missy, we lingered longingly, roaming thwt endless cemetary thwt few more-and-more physically crowded, but my view stil lasted. At one point, Missy spent more time at my site than she ever had at her own. She would occasionally ally stay over for long periods, reminiscing about life, and how boring it all seemed...hobbies like crocheting, reading, even playing cards; they all seemed fruitless endeavor as to just past time until Death acquits us of all thes past times, so the real struggle begins. At least for some of us...others, go quickly away, perhaps they broke the code of the cemetary, but after fourteen years, I've measured every inch of the place...and nothing seems to give, like a rubber band that snapped back at you if you tried to breach.
One day, Missy and I were discussing things we've missed form when we were alive, passing eternity on....acting almost alive.
"I miss ice cream sundaes more than anything. Going on weekends with my husband to the ice cream palor in the days I my youth,mwhere we were so young and innocent. How about you Frankie?"
She started to call me Frankie, a sort of pet name that I grew to admire however I could as a spiritual effervescence.
"I miss Mom's Spaghetti, homemade pasta every Sunday. It was lovely." I said. Food was the main topic of day, and yet, we never felt hungry, not even pangs of what hunger used to be. Then three was a long moment of silence.
"Frankie..." She's asked.
"What is it Missy?"
"Tell me Frankie: when does this all end? Does it end? Over a decade I sat here, and I think, and I ruminate on the life I had ninoraynfor forgiveness, to nearly any God of a Devil thwt would her me. I am starting to believe this is Hell."
"Wasn't it Sarte that said that 'Hell is other people'? So perhaps this fine silence we are allowed to be in is eternal, heavenly peace? I have been feeling askewed lately from the mundane passing of existence in death. What else is there? Maybe there isn't anything, but I hope there is more, I hope that something changes, and l can move forward."
"So you would leave me alone, here in this place?"
"We are ghosts, but even our haunting must come to pass."
With that, time went by, and we parted ways. I grew wearier with every passing day. I felt sickness, like I had before my second massive heart attack. The long days went tragic, and I felt myself almost dying again. One day I felt the passing. I screamed out for Missy, who came about in a sudden disarray.
"Oh Frankie! What's wrong?!" She exclaimed in such a way I swore she sounded like my living wife.
"I feel it! I'm leaving this world, I'm passing. Please, please try to follow! It feels so painful, like dying again, but there's a sense of bliss of completely joy!"
"Oh my love! I will try! I will try to follow!"
I smiled, and felt transience not,mlike a signal was calling me back.
"I love you too." And with thwt inlet, vanished from the cemetary that for nearly twenty years became my safe home. I saw her weep ghostly tears as I vanished from the Earth, and left her lying in wake. She lingered for many years after, until she joined me in a paradise long away. Yet there was grief, even in death, somewhere beyond the world I once loved too much to ever lose. Beyond the mountains of the cityscape. Beyond the private place.
Thank you for reading this final "short" story post. The last story will be up on Halloween I enjoyed doing these for some time, and the last story will be nearly as long as all the short ones combined. Okay, that an exaggeration, but let's look at this last one, which was a respectful admiring of Beagle's A Fine, and Private Place. Thank you for your continued support, and nex weeks final story: Nothing But Gnawed Bones, will be on on Nalloween Day, Monday the 31st of October.
Thank you all again, and have a wonderful day!
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