***
It was the soft breeze on his cheek that woke Abel Orion. He opened his eyes to find his face was in the grass. He had fainted while walking through the valley, as he had many times in recent days. It didn't concern him. For the first time in his life, everywhere he could fall was soft.
He took one deep breath, and sighed dreamily. The sun felt good on his back. He tried to stand up, but found he couldn't. His limbs were too heavy, and he was too tired. Looking ahead, he saw the apple tree he'd planted a few short years ago, growing next to the lake. It was a very short distance away, so with slow and careful movement, he approached it on all fours. His joints complained, but Abel paid them no mind. He was used to the pain by now.
He pulled himself next to the tree, and eased himself into place against it, sighing heavily. It was incredible how quickly things could grow in this valley. In the couple of years since Abel had arrived, this tree had grown taller than him. Catching his breath, he looked over the green, stretching out on all sides of him. There were plants of every variety, some growing in the water, some defiantly growing up the mountains, and perhaps beyond. Abel didn't know for sure, but he chose to believe it.
He chose to believe this valley was the starting point, from which Earth could rise anew. He imagined, then saw, the green climbing over the crest of these great mountains, and slowly work its way into the desert sands. From there it would consume the remains of the City of Ghosts, travel farther until it covered the escape pod Abel and his family used to reach the surface of Earth. Later it would expand to entire continents, dive into the oceans, clean the water and purify the air. Once it was all over, and the surface of Earth had become forest and meadow and prairie, the small creatures that buzzed with wings and swam with fins and walked with legs would return, all when it was their time again.
Abel saw all these things while leaning against the apple tree. He didn't have to breath as much, he found. Maybe sleep was taking hold again, or maybe his mind was just playing tricks.
His vision had only worsened in recent years, but that didn't make the flowers any less beautiful, the trees any less towering, grass any less soft, or the smiling face of his sister any less serene.
Now that he thought about it, he could see her smile. It was out in the valley a distance away. She was walking in the red flowers in her bare feet. She was wearing a dress, and she wasn't using her cane. She was just...there.
Abel looked a little harder, and saw the rest of his family, Robert, Jenna and Mary too. Some were talking in the distance, some were sitting and enjoying the sun. Abel's parents were swimming in the lake, a ways down the shore from him. Even from this distance he could see his father splashing water at his unsuspecting mother. She shouted and started splashing back.
Abel looked back to April, and she stopped walking. She turned to look at him, her blond hair glowing in the sunlight. She waved, her smile wide. Abel smiled also, but couldn't muster the strength to wave back. It was then he realized something. April, in all of her stunning beauty, unburdened by her cane, not filthy or starving or in pain, his sister, when truly happy and lovely...was Earth.
Again Abel smiled, then rested his head against the rough and welcoming bark of the apple tree. Everything was getting quiet now. Only the wind could be heard, but then just barely.
"Nothing I've ever imagined has been quite so full of promise," he said to the tree that supported him.
The wind picked up, and the tree creaked slightly as the wind passed.
Abel chuckled very softly.
"I don't know about that," he said, thinking of his family, and all the ghosts celebrating the returning green beyond the mountains in the nearby city. "There seems to be plenty of people left to me. But maybe you're right. Maybe I will close my eyes for a while. Maybe then I'll stop seeing things..."
The End
Afterthoughts
I began storyboarding Abel in late 2009, and actually started typing in early 2010. The project took me five months, from the very first word to the very last. At the time I was very proud of my work. It was so unlike any of my other books that I didn't really know how people would take it. Would my test audience understand the depth of my character, or was the book too weird and abstract for anyone to enjoy?
I was happy to hear people liked my book. They all said it had a lot of potential, which a young man like me didn't understand. What they were trying to say was that my book still needed work. It needed to be edited, something else I didn't fully understand at the time.
Shortly after the book was finished, and I self published a few copies, I started freelancing for a local newspaper. The book didn't really sell because I didn't have time to push it, and I was still oblivious to what real editing was. I eventually took the newspaper gig more seriously, landing my first reporter job on January 1, 2011. The work kept me busy. Even after I learned what true editing was, I still didn't have the time to spend on Abel. The project, though written, wasn't complete, and it remained that way until I forced myself to find the time.
Off and on, over an entire year, I put in the time. I could see a finished product finally coming together, even when life got in the way for weeks, sometimes months at a time. Reading it again, I can see how my writing style has evolved since. Sure, I would write this story differently if I were to start it from scratch today, but I still thought this book deserved the finishing touches I never gave it.
Though I've written another book since, I decided Abel had to be finished, and published first. It's not my most modern work, which might be of better quality, but it's the first book I've written that I proudly called my own.
I remember back when I was struggling with my fiction writing, before Abel, there were certain crutches I was using in each book without realizing it. There was an overabundance of violence and war, themes constantly surrounding myths and prophecy because I thought those things were exciting and cool. I thought every good story had to involve war, constant death and battle. These things bore me now. I saw how dependant I was on these themes, and wanted so badly to write something else. I just couldn't think of anything.
One day, while visiting friends in London, Ontario, I was walking through the campus of Fanshawe College. I was in a sour mood at the time, by myself in the early afternoon. Not only was my writer's block making me feel helpless in general, I was having one of my more emotional visits to the big city. Being a young man has its special brand of challenges.
While I was walking, I saw something on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day, and there was no one around, so I stopped there and examined the small object. They were small, silver, plastic pearls. They were all connected by a golden coloured chain, which was also plastic. Most people would have just kept walking, but I picked it up and ran it through my fingers. There was something about these plastic pearls, which must have belonged to an ornament, or decoration or something but had fallen off, completely forgotten.
I shoved the pearls in my pocket, and over the next few days, a story started developing in my mind. I thought of a young man, leading a dirty, hungry existence. He was afraid of things that didn't exist, weak, frail and unimpressive. I created the first truly unique character of my writing career. In spite of all his shortcomings, he defied the odds and became something great. I adored him. Abel came to life on the page
I hope you enjoyed my story, and the young, insane man who told it.
Contact the author by email at [email protected]
Abel Page 36