1,705 Words and Already Filled With Regret

As Heather wrote this morning... 40 words in and already regretting doing this. Well, I am 1,705 words in and yep... regret is a word I would use to describe how I'm feeling. I don't have a plot, per se, just a character and a plight. Dylann is a writer who has been living at Jackie's Place for 3 months. She has no memory of who she is or what she was doing before she arrived. Here are a three excerpts- I always like to start with a dream, and this dreamscape will be part of the story of what she is doing and why.

It begins with a drum beat, do you hear it? Slowly, slowly. At first you aren’t sure if it is only your heart thrumming in your ears, but then you feel it in your feet, in the earth beneath your feet and your heart rejoices for hearing its call.

The drum beats for you.

Will you be brave enough this time to answer its call? I think you will, for your heart is braver than you know. I know this because the heart of a lion was gifted to you, by me. I ripped out my own heart and placed it in your chest and kissed your forehead and whispered your name. You opened your eyes and you saw me. And while the mind is slippery the heart never forgets. You know me.

One step and then another. Yes that is the way forward, the way back and everything in between. All ways lead you to the forest of your ancestors. Listen to the wind in the trees, the song of the trees is for you. The breeze caresses your face, lifts your hair. You are home. You are welcome here.

The beating of the drum, the whispers of the trees, the songs of the birds calling you home. The light through the trees is a golden rose that makes you weep. When did you last know such happiness, such peace? You know this place, and what’s more, it knows you. Every blade of grass bends in your direction, following your trek through these woods, singing your name, singing to your heart. Welcome home, welcome home, welcome home.

I will wait for you here, dear one. My heart is your heart.

I have already been heavily reliant on copy and paste, having pasted Jackie's entire list of rules that Indigo shared a while back. Another rule has been added- "Feminism is for everyone, dipshit"

Those who broke Jackie’s Rules would find themselves on the receiving end of an icy glare, or worse. Dylann still recalled with a shiver the time she had witnessed a particularly smarmy patron be on the receiving end of Jackie’s ire. “Stop trying to interpellate the customers,” he had said in a whispery soft voice dripping with rage. The offender had slunk out of the bar, his copy of Twelve Rules for Life clutched to his chest, the sound of the accompanying applause and jeers ringing hollow in his ears. It was a sick burn from which he would never recover. He was never seen again at Jackie’s Place.

And here is the interaction between Dylann and Jackie at Jackie's Place:

The regulars knew enough not to ask questions, but all were curious about the woman who had mysteriously appeared one day and seemingly never left. Was she a relative of Jackie’s? A sister, perhaps?

Dylann herself did not know. Although she remembered everything from the time she had arrived at Jackie’s Place three months prior, she remembered nothing from her life before. It was as though her life had started on the day she had drifted toward the bar, sat down, and accepted the slightly warm and flat glass of beer Jackie placed in front of her.

“Got a name, kid?” he asked, much to the astonishment of his regular customers. While it was well known that Jackie would serve people whatever he damn well pleased, it was uncharacteristic of him to demonstrate interest in anyone. When he asked, she looked at him, slightly perplexed. It was her first memory, the first words she could recall being spoken.

“I suppose I do,” she said. He nodded as though that were a normal response. Perhaps it was. Jackie pulled a clean glass down from the rack that hung above the bar and began to polish it with the filthy rag in his hands. The bar was quiet, a low hum of conversation and the music from the old jukebox in the corner drifting in the quiet breeze that lingered from when she had walked through the door.

Yes, and how many years must a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea?
And how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn't see?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind

“Sometimes we forget who we are,” he said, his eyes on the glass in his hands. He replaced the glass, now smeared with grease, and pulled down another clean glass. She nodded slowly, seemingly lost in thought, or perhaps simply lost.

When he began to call her Dylann, like so many things, she simply accepted it and moved on. One step and then another. Yes that is the way forward, the way back and everything in between.