Please read, digest and respond in the comments.....
Chapter 1.
The sun crept up the sky the way ivy grows up a wall.....slowly. The light smeared the dark blue of morning creating new and unique shades which shimmered and then vanished as if they had never existed. A breeze caused the crooked weeping willows branches to sway gently. Its drooping leaves brushed the ground like an errant, magical broom catching the dust and causing little eddies to form and rise; eventually falling back to earth to settle once again amid the sparse grassy riverbank.
The river itself was narrow and shallow. It gently meandered through the green fields of the Kentish countryside. In the early morning summer light, a flock of starlings, which had been disturbed by an unseen intruder, circled and called as they rose up into the slowly warming air. Their call was shrill and startling and pierced the air.
The man who had been dozing against the trunk of the willow woke with a start and glanced around him with the look of a man who had woken up with absolutely no clue where he was. For a short moment he couldnt even remember who he was, but eventually a look that looked a bit like a cross between clarity, anger and despair appeared on his face and he slumped back against the tree trunk banging his head so hard that the tree actually shook in response.
With a pained groan, he stood up and dusted himself down. He was actually surprised how dirty he was. To anyone watching the scene, the man seemed to disappear in a cloud of dust only to reappear, coughing from the dust that he had inhaled.
When he was standing up and not caked in muck, that hidden observer would say he was impressive to look at. He was in his mid to late 20's, tall, perhaps 6 foot two and broad like a bear. His hair was dirty blond and his fringe was longer than the rest. A closer observation of the man would allow our witness to notice the remnants of an old scar on his temple and a newer, fresher looking scar on the left hand side of his neck.
Despite these physical flaws, a lady would describe him as handsome and a closer look at his deep blue eyes would make her believe that this was a poor tortured soul because these beautiful eyes were pained by a secret and had seen things that had changed the man forever.
A grimace of pain crossed his face as he stretched. His thin dirty white shirt lifted up to reveal a toned muscular abdomen where another ugly scar had left its mark. he looked down to the ground where he had been recently sleepimg and there partially hidden , was a gnarly tree root. He had been so tired the night before when he had crashed out after walking for the whole day, he had not even noticed it.
He stretched his back again, slowly arching it like a cat and he lifted both arms above his head and linking his fingers he pushed up until his shoulders made a loud clicking sound. A blackbird which had been scared by the loud crack was startled enought to take flight and twittered angrily as it did so.
"Sorry" said the man with a shrug.
His accent was a strange combination, refined and rough at the same time. He searched around the base of the tree and picked up a rough hessian sack. He swung it up with a simple jerk of his arm and it arrived on his shoulder with a solid thud. He looked around him as if he was still trying to get his bearings. Finally he picked a direction and headed off.
As he disappeared, the blackbird flew back to the tree, the starlings landed back in the field and the river slowly kept flowing as the sun continued to rise into the brightening sky.
_______________________________
The village sat in a gentle dip in the landscape. It wasn't a large place, less than 20 cottages, surrounded by a circle of trees. At its centre stood a church, an inn and a small village green.
As the man entered the village, the sign at the side of the humble road said Stelling Minnis.
In the distance the church bell indicated that it had just turned 8 and there was plenty of life to be seen. An old man was pushing a dilapidated wheelbarrow which every now and then squeaked in protest. The younger man nodded a greeting with a smile. The old man trudged on, incredulous to the strangers greeting. Further down the road, he could see several women standing on a corner. They were all dressed the same and had the weary look that mothers and wives the whole world over had. Frowning faces, limbs hanging loosely at their sides and wearing simple grey skirts that came way below the knee. Boots rather than shoes indicated that these women were not from the highest echelons of the community and this daily gathering, in their shawls and aprons was probably the social highlight of their day. As he got closer, he also saw that twoof the younger women were carrying babies and three slightly older children were sitting at their feet playing in the dirt.
It was at this point that the man was noticed by the women who as one all turned and followed his progress towards them.
"Good morning Ladies" he called, "Isn't it a lovely day?"
He was greeted by 5 blank stares and a cough and even the children seemed to stop and look at the man
It was at this point that the man was noticed by the women who as one all turned and followed his progress towards them.
"Good morning Ladies" he called, "Isn't it a lovely day?"
He was greeted by 5 blank stares and a cough and even the children seemed to stop and look at the man
with a gaze that wouldn't look out of place on the face of a biologist looking at an unusual new insect species.
'Friendly bunch' the man thought to himself and he quickened his step away from the women. As soon as he was past them he glanced back to see the women deeply caught up in conversation and glacing furtively in his direction.
The man chuckled to himself, 'Welcome home' he muttered under his breath.
The road that he had been walking down now began to widen. Up ahead he saw that the road split in two and looped around a small but neatly kept village green. To the left of the green was an inn that was called the Rose and Crown. It was a white building that was obviously cared for and in front of each window there was a window box that was filled with colourful flowers.
On the right hand side of the green, there was a small village grocers and the much more imposing sight of St Mary's church. The steeple reached up into the blue sky and on the top of it a weather vane with the shape of a cockerel indicated that a southerly breeze was blowing.
The man could see the graveyard beyond the church and he suddenly felt a sense of real apprehension. He walked over to the church wall and leaning on it, he gazed into the churchyard.
Here there were gravestones in neat rows. Some had flowers, others without. Mostly plain gray stones with the names of people long dead. He made his way slowly to the rickety gate in the graveyards corner. It groaned in protest at the pressure he exerted, but it swung inward to allow him entry.
He stepped into the graveyard and suddenly seemed to freeze with fear. His face tightened as if a dark memory that he had kept buried deep in his subconscious was snaking up into his brain.
After a moment, the man seemed to recover. He slumped against the hard stone wall until he seemed to regain his composure. He stood up straight, brushed his wayward hair from his eyes and walked purposefully towards a large, wonderfully ornate grave at the centre of the cemetery.
He walked past several graves that had plain grey slabs marking their occupiers lives. A farmer here,a clergyman there. Husbands, wives and children buried together under grey stone that had been carved with names and dates.
At the centre of the graveyard however there was a different memorial. Standing 7 feet tall atop a white marble block stood a statue of the Virgin Mary in prayer. She smiled down on him as he approached with cold unblinking eyes that seemed to chill him to his core.
The block had been intricately carved and sculpted and 3 of the 4 sides had been designed to show biblical scenes. The birth of Christ was there; shepherds and the 3 Magi paying homage to the child in a manger while an angel flies overhead bearing a star in its arms. Next was a rendition of the Last Supper, Jesus at the centre with his apostles around him listening intently to what the son of God was saying. One of the figures seemed to shy away from the others as if it did not want to hear the mans words.
"Judas" the man spat the word quietly, "There is always a Judas."
The third side showed not the crucifiction, but the ressurection. The figure of Jesus seemed to glow, even on the dirty white marble. The two kneeling figures were the two Mary's, mother and whore together in their adulation.
The man thought back to his own recent past and smiled to himself. Only recently he had undergone his own ressurection. No one had been there to see it however and he was absolutely certain that when he had come back from the brink of death there was nothing glorious or magical about it.
Finally the man stepped around to face the final side of the block. There in the stone, engraved with skill and precision, and then darkened to make the letters stand out more clearly was the name of a woman.
'Friendly bunch' the man thought to himself and he quickened his step away from the women. As soon as he was past them he glanced back to see the women deeply caught up in conversation and glacing furtively in his direction.
The man chuckled to himself, 'Welcome home' he muttered under his breath.
The road that he had been walking down now began to widen. Up ahead he saw that the road split in two and looped around a small but neatly kept village green. To the left of the green was an inn that was called the Rose and Crown. It was a white building that was obviously cared for and in front of each window there was a window box that was filled with colourful flowers.
On the right hand side of the green, there was a small village grocers and the much more imposing sight of St Mary's church. The steeple reached up into the blue sky and on the top of it a weather vane with the shape of a cockerel indicated that a southerly breeze was blowing.
The man could see the graveyard beyond the church and he suddenly felt a sense of real apprehension. He walked over to the church wall and leaning on it, he gazed into the churchyard.
Here there were gravestones in neat rows. Some had flowers, others without. Mostly plain gray stones with the names of people long dead. He made his way slowly to the rickety gate in the graveyards corner. It groaned in protest at the pressure he exerted, but it swung inward to allow him entry.
He stepped into the graveyard and suddenly seemed to freeze with fear. His face tightened as if a dark memory that he had kept buried deep in his subconscious was snaking up into his brain.
After a moment, the man seemed to recover. He slumped against the hard stone wall until he seemed to regain his composure. He stood up straight, brushed his wayward hair from his eyes and walked purposefully towards a large, wonderfully ornate grave at the centre of the cemetery.
He walked past several graves that had plain grey slabs marking their occupiers lives. A farmer here,a clergyman there. Husbands, wives and children buried together under grey stone that had been carved with names and dates.
At the centre of the graveyard however there was a different memorial. Standing 7 feet tall atop a white marble block stood a statue of the Virgin Mary in prayer. She smiled down on him as he approached with cold unblinking eyes that seemed to chill him to his core.
The block had been intricately carved and sculpted and 3 of the 4 sides had been designed to show biblical scenes. The birth of Christ was there; shepherds and the 3 Magi paying homage to the child in a manger while an angel flies overhead bearing a star in its arms. Next was a rendition of the Last Supper, Jesus at the centre with his apostles around him listening intently to what the son of God was saying. One of the figures seemed to shy away from the others as if it did not want to hear the mans words.
"Judas" the man spat the word quietly, "There is always a Judas."
The third side showed not the crucifiction, but the ressurection. The figure of Jesus seemed to glow, even on the dirty white marble. The two kneeling figures were the two Mary's, mother and whore together in their adulation.
The man thought back to his own recent past and smiled to himself. Only recently he had undergone his own ressurection. No one had been there to see it however and he was absolutely certain that when he had come back from the brink of death there was nothing glorious or magical about it.
Finally the man stepped around to face the final side of the block. There in the stone, engraved with skill and precision, and then darkened to make the letters stand out more clearly was the name of a woman.
Abigail Foxworth
1766 - 1804
Wife of George Foxworth
Mother of Robert Foxworth
It was not these words however that shocked the man. In newly carved words painted with the same black paint was another name.
George Foxworth
1753 - 1816
The man stared unbelieving at the name and let out a despaired scream that cut through the peaceful village air like a knife. He fell to his knees with such a force that pain passed in waves through his body. He groaned loudly and in a mixture of pain, grief and exhaustion he passed out.
When he was found a few minutes later he was still there.
#lazarusrising #chapter1
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