I wrote the first paragraph of this for GWE last week for a Susan Budig prompt. Later in the day I added the rest when writers block had effectively stopped forward progress on a novel I am working on I decided to post it all after Susan’s comments on the first paragraph.
Her coffin was made from water, crystal clear, wet to the touch, firm and rigid when placed in the ground. Pall bearers, hands colder than a polar winter, made handles of ice when they grabbed it, and all six of them, walking on legs with no feet, carried her slowly the fourteen miles to her grave. I watched from a distance that was measured in years and saw the end of my daughter not yet born.
I chose to live my life this way in this incarnation. I chose to live in a world where I could move purposefully in all four dimensions instead of just three. And a world where the laws of physics were not fixed but instead flowed like a meandering stream.
It seemed a good change from my four hundred lifetimes on Earth, a chance to perfect another aspect of my soul, the part of me that always seemed to be hindered in its evolution by the constraints of a world where the rigid forward arrow of time holds the key to what we can become and fixes what we have been.
Here, in this world, it is different. I can move forward or backward in time as well as the other three dimensions. The deeds that I do in any given moment travel along like a pattern of waves in both directions, changing the past if I want, and creating a future that I want to travel to. Only when it is over will the story of this life be finally written.
I came to this moment in time, the time of my daughter’s burial, right after my wife told me this morning that we were going to have our first child. Here, I am an old man, but I’m still alive. And I have discovered that my daughter is not.
I must now go back in time and find the moment where I can change that. I must make this future become one with me in that water coffin and not her.
I have yet to meet her, but she is my daughter, and, indeed, I already love her, for I have learned, in this, my four hundred and first lifetime, that there are no constants in the universe except love.
Copyright 2011 by Richard Thuss