Authors: Jennifer Reynolds
Shifter (37 page)
I shiver as cold air grabs me. The many blankets I have wrapped myself in cannot shield me from the frozen air seeping in through the gaping holes in the house. I contemplate lying back down, trying to get a few more moments of sleep, but the ground is too hard. My body aches from all the long nights I have had to sleep on the semi-burnt remnants of these hardwood floors. Besides, I really do not wish to return to that dream, as lovely as it was.
My stomach grumbles.
I promise it food today.
It knows I am lying.
Food is becoming harder and harder to find. Not much has survived that long ago attack. I started out with a decent stash of vegetables and meat but my stash has been gone for a few days. I rationed them the best I could to make them last longer. I have spent every day since I ran out scouting for food, when I’m not finding ways to make this place livable again, but so far, all I have found are a few jars of canned green beans.
Piling layer upon layer of torn clothing onto my body, I start to hum the words to Elvis Presley’s version of
Blue Christmas
, one of her favorite songs. I want to stop the words from forming in my head. Although, I know if I do, I have to go back to listening to the deafening sounds of nothing. The nothingness should be a blessing after the sounds of war from the last years, but the song just makes the silent flashes of memory hurt even worse.
Quietly, I make my way throughout the day. Methodically, working on different sections of the house, I try desperately not to think about anything. Not of all the years I spent fighting. Or all the people I have killed for no reason in a war that never should have happened. I try not to think of the family I once had or the family I could have had. Every time one of these thoughts tries to creep into my head, I shake it out.
I do not want to think.
I just want to work.
Around noon a thought does comes to me, an idea really, and it is one that is adamant about staying. I have not visited them today. I probably should stop visiting them, but I ache so much for them. A quiet tear rolls down my cheek. I change clothes, trying not to look like I have just been through hell. It does not work. Most of my clothes are burnt and torn.
Dressed as nicely as I will ever look, I stare out the back door. My family had kept the most beautiful flower gardens here once the greenhouse had gone up. There once had been a stone birdbath in the center of the yard surrounded by the prettiest purple irises. There had been gardens that wrapped completely around the house but the ones in the back yard had always been my favorite.
Today, those gardens are gone, along with my favorite willow that had once engulfed the left back corner of the yard. There is not a single speck of green left anywhere on the frozen ground. Large, circled, scorch marks caused by the fires that accompanied the battle will make sure that nothing grows here for a very long time.
I look into the small acre of land just beyond the back gate at all the small pieces that had once been grave markers lined up so perfectly. The small, makeshift cemetery is creepy and sad.
Pulling my coat tighter around me, I walk up and down the rows, reading the names and dates that are still legible. The markers are plain and crudely crafted. I do not have any flowers to decorate them.
Thick clouds fill the sky, but there will be no snow. Not this Christmas.
If I let myself I would stay out here all day, talking to them, watching over them, but I can’t live life that way. Reluctantly, I go back in the house and pull the thick bundle of pages I’ve been guarding with my life for years out of my bag. I do it every day, but haven’t been able to bring myself to read the story.
Today will be the day, though. It just feels right. Feels like it is time.
I crawl back under my blankets and force myself to read aloud the first line, “This is the story of the end of civilization and the birth of a new world and its imminent demise.” The words immediately take me back to the day I decided we needed a history of how this all began. I laugh at how overly dramatic I was despite the fact that the words are true…
Read more of
Alone
at:
https://www.facebook.com/Alone.Jennifer.Reynolds
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my mother for always believing in me and being the first person to ever read this novel. I thank my best friend and one of my readers and editors, Candace Forbs. She had faith in this project when I had given up all hope of ever finishing it. And I want to thank my second editor, Kathryn Cruse for all of her hard work in helping me finalize this novel. All three of these women have given me the courage and confidence to make this novel happen. Ladies, again, I thank you.
Secondly, I want to thank, Keisha Montgomery, for graciously posing for the cover of this novel, and her mother, Rachel Handback, for taking the photo and allowing me creative reign with it. You ladies have shown me so much love and support through all of this. I couldn’t ask for better friends and fans.
About the Author
Jennifer Lynn Powell Reynolds is a native of North Alabama. She has a Master of Fine Arts degree from National University and a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of North Alabama.
Writing has always been a large part of her life. She has worked on a number of different projects throughout her life, but her focus had mainly been on her education. Now that that part of her life is over, she is focusing on her writing career and loving every moment of it.
Aside from spending her days immersed in the fictional worlds she creates, she works part time at Stained Glass Artistry.
You can reach Jennifer at:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJenniferReynolds
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