Here is the beginning of a story I’m in the slow process of writing. Instead of doing it alone at my desk and wondering if the words sound right, I’ve decided to write it here in front of you and hope that you can help me get it done at some point in the future. Edit, give ideas, share thoughts, add a paragraph … whatever you think would push the story forward. Let your creative juices flow. Please be kind is all I ask. I’m writing as it comes to me; there is no outline, no plan, no ideas about what should happen next. If you’re interested, join me as you can. Maybe we’ll come up with a story or, goodness only knows, a novel. Here I go.
AI Assistant remarks for your information.
The content is engaging and sets a contemplative mood. The use of descriptive language effectively creates a sense of mystery and longing surrounding the characters. The introduction of the main character’s internal conflict contributes to the story’s depth. To enhance the narrative, consider providing clearer transitions between present and past events. Additionally, developing the pacing to balance introspective and action-oriented scenes could further captivate the audience. Lastly, offering more contextual details about the characters and their backgrounds may add depth to the story. Keep up the creative work and continue building upon the emotional tension and internal struggle within the characters.
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THE WINDS ARE WHISPERING
Psisthurism: [sith-yuh-riz-uhm] — a rustling or whispering sound such as leaves in the wind. (An obsolete word) — As love is obsolete once the lover is gone.
Synopsis
Chelle Le Master, protagonist
Adam Le Master, her husband
Ben Malone, the man from her past
“The Winds are Whispering” explores the depths of human emotions, including love, loss, regret, and more. It explores the contrasting effects of memories, showing how they influence and haunt our present experiences. The protagonist searches within herself to find peace and atone for the past.
Burdened by the complexities of her marriage, Chelle LeMaster received a message persuading her to return to a cabin in the woods earlier in the week. A mysterious and irresistible force compelled her to explore. She had to get him out of her soul to be the wife her husband deserved. She had not accomplished that, which pulled her into shards of regret, guilt, and deep inner pain.
Driven by nostalgia and emotion, Chelle sets off on a solo adventure. Walking along the twisting trails toward the familiar cabin, rustling winds bring back the ghostly memory of a former love. Every gust of wind strengthens Chelle’s memories of their time together, intensifying her inner turmoil. Upon reaching the cabin, Chelle confronts the overpowering loneliness that engulfs its interior. The profound intensity of his absence stirs dormant passions within her. The familiar surroundings are a relentless mirror, reflecting moments of happiness and pain they once shared.
In her desperate struggle, haunted by memories, Chelle’s journey becomes a touching odyssey. Within the cabin’s silence, she acknowledges her regrets, choices, and compromises.
CHAPTER ONE
The Buick’s headlights cut through the dark, sweeping the sides of the car, and fading like fog among the trees. A woman behind the wheel brushed a strand of graying hair from her face. Biting at her bottom lip, and squinting, she explored the half-lit path ahead, probing for the side track to a cabin. It had been years since she’d driven through the area, so she had forgotten where the caution signs of approaching turns were. They had the potential to catch a traveler unaware. She was unsure of the side track’s exact location since neglect appeared to have disguised it in the underbrush. The way love hides when it is gone.
A cutoff abruptly appeared. Chelle LeMaster slowed the car, remembering a pothole had lived at the turn.
“The last thing I need is a flat tire and no way to get help,” she mumbled, licking her dry lips.
She had checked for cell coverage before turning off the highway, but there was none. No way to let Adam know where she was. Reaching for the radio knob and, though not meaning to turn it off, only to soften the sound, she heard the click.
“Oh, shoot! Well, I guess it’ll be easier to think without music in my ears.”
For some mysterious reason, silence made it easier to think while she searched. Chelle realized such a thing made no rational sense, but it helped with the noise gone. The music spoke to her and took up space in her mind. She needed that space to find the cabin and decide about it.
Knowing there was no way of getting help should she need it, something lurched inside her like a cat needing to scratch its way out of capture and escape. A sense of unease or fear. She wasn’t sure which, but one of those feelings took command. An internal battle waged in her mind, fueled by the fear of what lay ahead. She shook her head to toss it out. Chelle did not know for certain what she wanted in the end. What she wanted now was to go home and embrace adult responsibilities. No longer a frightened young girl on the cusp of womanhood. Time had passed, and she had loitered.
She nervously veered toward the cutoff, avoiding the pothole, then took a deep breath, and stopped the car. The only sounds in the night were the low muffled drumbeat of the car’s motor and Chelle’s torn breathing. Tire tracks lay ahead, unsettling to her. They indicated someone’s recent cabin visitation. Against every warning, she pushed the accelerator and eased forward, working to keep the scrubs alongside the path from scratching the car. Their straggling fingers reached out like children pleading for food or hugs: A voice or a smile. Chelle had very few smiles for anybody these days and no hugs. She struggled to find her voice which seemed to have disappeared, and her damp hands slipped on the steering wheel.
In the back of her mind, Chelle envisioned herself running down a dock and leaping into the air, landing in lukewarm water, and falling in love again. Returning to reality, she stomped on the brakes and slammed the car into Park, almost hissing to herself, or to someone who should be there but wasn’t.
“What kind of an idiot do you think I am? I’m not going to that cabin; I will not go. Why should I?”
Her mind whirling and her heart pounding, she leaned against the steering wheel and put her head in her arms. Prior past pain was tolerable, but now it had become unbearable. It brought loss to her like a gift of remorse and dropped it in her lap. She thought she smelled Ben and felt him near her somehow. If she could scream his name and it would help, she would do it. Instead, she had to hold him tight inside her secrets and refuse to let him out. It would eat her alive, but he would be safe.
Heading to the cabin but torn between wanting to go and not wanting to go, emotions wrestled within. Chelle’s shoulders heaved, but she wasn’t crying. Instead, she was struggling to breathe. Every memory of Ben almost annihilated her. It felt like inhaling dirt with each breath. The pain scorched like an iron on silk, but she knew she must keep moving whether she wanted to or not. She needed the answers but couldn’t remember the questions.
Answers: Without them, the past held no meaning and freedom remained out of reach. If she never reached the pinnacle of knowing the answers to the questions, nothing on the horizon changed and her marriage had to remain an empty shell. Adam deserved more from her. He was a good man, stern but good, and had always been kind to her. He deserved the love still owned by a man of her past. A man she had never been able to shake out of her life. She took an anxious breath, shifted the car into Drive, and navigated the narrow path until a gap in the bushes appeared.
On the far side of the opening, the darkness of the trees evaporated, and the heaviness from the night lifted from Chelle’s shoulders. A moonlit sky shined dark blue, revealing a small cabin to the right and several fruit trees on the left, peach she thought. Maybe a fig or two. The color-faded log cabin, with a visible chimney in the back, stood near some taller trees and in front of a mound that could be considered a mountain in the Georgia midlands. Here, it was a bump in the landscape and a bit taller than the cabin. Ben’s cabin. He’d built it with his own hands out of trees on the mountainous bump behind the plot of land he’d chosen. No signs of life.
Chelle lifted her foot off the accelerator and let the car creep almost on its own as she moved closer and caught a glimpse of the rocks that had always lived in that spot. She could feel their rough strength on the back of her legs as she sat with Ben and planned their future, knowing that his eyes were settled on the horizon and not on her. She chose to trust his heart and not his eyes.
Surrounded by the deep red color of the land and across the lane from a border of flowering shrubs, the rocks held a muted vigil. Once, Ben had attempted to move one of those rocks, and she had laughed hilariously. It did not budge, no matter how hard he tried. Their size didn’t tell their weight until a person took hold and lifted. Chelle heard her laughter somewhere toward the back of her brain and shook her head to get it out.
They always laughed together, collapsing in each other’s arms out of breath and full of yearning. She shook her head again. Sometimes, a shake made Ben leave her alone. Most times, though, it didn’t. This time, though, he left, and despite her wish for his absence, she felt lonely without him. She’d missed him for years and loved it when a memory brought a visit.
Tugging her mind to the present, she noticed a narrow line of green grass growing down the middle of the lane. In the dark, the green looked black. Her tires straddled the grass, which brought a strange comfort. Much like the comfort of coming home after a long and wearisome trip with people who make you feel bad about yourself so that you’re exhausted. She remembered walking with Ben down the same path and felt her hand in his stronger one. It was warm and surrounded hers so that getting lost would be impossible. He was her safety. She would parachute out of a plane with her hand in his. She would swim the entirety of the ocean if he were beside her, or even in a boat urging her on.
Moving away from memory, Chelle noticed that the old fence posts alongside the path still stood. Three strings of wire fed through holes formed by drills, holding whatever needed holding. Horses ate right through those fences. Ben loved horses. He loved to meander the trails through the woods and mountainous cave-like hiding places on Jezebel, his Buckskin mare. If he got himself lost, Jezebel wasn’t lost, and she would bring him home. More memories. Another shake of the head.
Chelle let the car roll itself to the front of the cabin and she cut the engine. Most everything was the same. Nothing much had changed, yet it didn’t feel the same. Sitting in silence, she heard her heart beating in her ears. Indecisive, Chelle pondered whether to leave or knock on the door. No one was there. The tire tracks must have been someone leaving. Someone had been there before her.
Her first thought was ridiculous. “Was it him?”
She answered herself; “Only if he were a ghost. Who else? What other possibility was there?”
The reminder that he had died slammed into her stomach like a punch from an enemy. It felt somehow unfair that he had left her alone to fend off incoming memory attacks.
Wondering if the creek still ran behind the cabin leading to the dock, Chelle allowed her eyes to move left and land on the wooden walkway. That’s when her memory meandered to the pier to let the scene speak, dangling her feet in the water. His contagious laughter filled her, clearing her mind of everything but the two of them wading through the creek. Jumping off the dock. In her mind, she watched him walk ahead of her and longed to catch up with him. Wrap her arms around him from behind. If she squeezed tight enough ….an ache touched her heart like a finger poking for attention.
Suddenly, she wondered where he was and spoke aloud.
“Where did they bury him?”
She opened the car door and put one foot on the ground. There he stood. In the distance, on the dock, tall and lean, a soft, warm breeze ruffled his dark hair. Breathing became torturous. She grabbed her chest as if her heart were tumbling out of her body.
“How is it possible? How is his hair still dark? We are both so much older.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered to the air that hugged her. “They said he died.”
Motionless, she stood with one foot grounded, one on the floorboard, and her hands gripping the steering wheel and door handle. Her heart pounded from the outside, screeching,” Let me in, let me in!”
Sweat slid down the sides of her face. A salty taste touched the corner of her mouth to let her know she was crying. Her body was tearing itself apart the way a mountain crumbles little by little until it collapses, bringing down the world in its fall.
As she often did, Chelle imagined his hair slipping through her hands. The sensation was that of icy mountain water flowing downstream. She would always remember that sensation. Memories slapped at her, punching and pummeling, forcing her to listen.
She listened once. For a brief moment, she listened to him, his voice, his eyes. He poured himself into her through those chocolate eyes. Pulled her into himself in some powerful place of oneness where they lived together. And in that place, he dreamed aloud of a land somewhere that waited for him. He turned to her on that last day and allowed his eyes to ask. But none of it made logical sense to her, so she had no answer.
Slowly and sadly, it dawned on Chelle.
“I’m not seeing him,” she ruminated. “It’s a memory or my imagination; that’s all. How could I see his hair in the dark? It must be an apparition. I wonder if people can stay around to say goodbye.”
She didn’t know the answer.
Earlier, her attorney had sent a note to her that included a letter from Ben. In his note, the attorney told Chelle of Ben’s death but she couldn’t remember what he said about the burial, date, or place. Or why he died. She wondered what happened to him.
She had meant to respond to the attorney and ask why, or what happened, but Adam needed her to go with him on a business trip to New York. He would need his wife at the gathering in the evening so she would be there for him. She slipped Ben’s letter into her purse and took it with them to read in the little café where she drank coffee in the mornings and had time to herself. She wanted to touch his words as she read them. And she wanted to be alone with him.
Also, in his letter Ben had said he wanted her to have the cabin, to keep or sell it, whichever she wanted, and that a surprise would be waiting inside for her. He hoped that she would love it as much as he loved her. He wanted her to spend time in the cabin, recalling their summer together.
“Give yourself the gift of memory,” he wrote, urging.
Chelle lowered her right foot to the ground and closed the car door. Exhaling the long breath she had taken in, she murmured, “How could I ever forget that gift, Ben?”
Mentally, she resisted going to the cabin.
Emotionally, her heart needed to go.
Her feet obeyed her heart and walked on their own.
She followed them.
CHAPTER TWO
A tall man with sandy-colored hair scraped food from a can into a bright yellow dog dish, stooped to place it on the floor, and sighed. A small white Maltese, waiting expectantly, began to eat, crunching with its mouth wide open. At every bite, the small dog gazed at its owner adoringly and then took another bite.
Hand on his hip and leaning casually on the kitchen counter, Adam LeMaster smiled. He loved that sweet dog, even the adorable smacking sound she made when eating. With another deep sigh, he let his eyes wander to the picture window in the eating area. It looked out onto a large patio surrounded by yellow roses climbing everywhere as if they were reaching for something to hug.
Every time he looked at those roses, Adam thought about Chelle. She loved the color yellow and Roses were her favorite flower. “Yellow is bright and cheerful,” she told him, so yellow roses made her happy. He would do anything to keep his wife happy. She meant the world to him and always would. He’d loved her at first glance.
Thirty years earlier, she had walked through a hotel lobby in Atlanta, unaware of Adam or anyone else, high heels clicking, talking to herself and replying, and he was owned. Adam’s heart began a cartwheel and never touched the ground again.
Chelle had a quirky way of conversing with herself. Over time, he learned it was her way of making decisions or reminding herself of things she didn’t want to forget. Adam recalled times when they were together and she would let her thoughts ramble out in a whisper. He learned more about his wife from those murmurings than any facts she might have shared with him. She would absentmindedly ask questions and answer herself. Thinking about her conversations in the air, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her warm and safe.
Today, however, he felt lost, and lonely for his wife. Something wasn’t right with her but he couldn’t stir it around in his mind well enough to figure out what it was. He wanted to make her happy but she seemed to be trapped in a mist of some sort and in an otherworldly way. Someone had to be on her mind. He wondered who it was. And if it was a “he”, was he also in her heart? Was he from the past, or in the present? Lately, she had been withdrawn, not wanting Adam to hold her. She said she needed some alone time, just a little, not too much. A peck on the cheek and a promise it was nothing he should be concerned about she’d left him wondering. Adam knew better. It certainly was something that should concern him but he let her go. Time would reveal whatever concerned her. She’d driven off for “a short trip to Appalachia, close to the North Georgia mountains but not quite in them.”
Bridges To ... Bridges From 