Looking Down , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC - Leigha Edwards

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49 pages

English

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Description

When an artist dies, God lets them paint the skies. We’ve all heard the cute little saying, but what about the rest of us? The ones who couldn't paint a straight line to save our own life (afterlife) – do we just sit there, like, for eternity? I mean, I don’t want to sound ungrateful and I’m sure it’s still better than the other choice but…I’m just curious.

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
Date de parution	29 janvier 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645758860
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

L ooking D own
Leigha Edwards
Austin Macauley Publishers
2021-29-01
Looking Down About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment The Artist The Musician The Dancer The Child The Lost The Faithless The Anticipated The Tempest The Catalyst The Repose The Delay The Unexplainable The Sentinel The Forgiven The Visitor The Intruder The Faithful The Hopeful The Strong The Joyful The Loved The Peaceful
About the Author
Leigha was raised in a Christian family on a quiet farm in a small town. Over the years she fell in love with the nature all around her and found beauty in the smallest things. With an over-active imagination and a noted flair for the dramatics, she was encouraged to begin writing by her parents.
Dedication
For Papa, who never got tired of listening to me talk.
Copyright Information ©
Leigha Edwards (2021)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Edwards, Leigha
Looking Down
ISBN 9781645758853 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781645362319 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645758860 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924745
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgment
God: Thank you for making this possible and for my family.
Mama: Thank you for being my biggest fan and my role model. You never questioned the people or the worlds I made up but taught me to be proud of the way I looked at the world.
Daddy: Thank you for teaching me to dream and always believing that I could do anything. You taught me to be strong and have the faith in my beliefs that I needed to make this dream a reality.
Ashley: Thank you for acting like I was crazy when I thought I couldn’t make it. I couldn’t ask for a better sister or best friend.
Mr. Michael Podurgal: Thank you for caring about your students. You are the only teacher I ever had who encouraged me to pursue writing and I wouldn’t be here without you.
The Artist
It was supposed to be a white light, that’s what they always say, right? “Go into the light,” or whatever. I never saw any light, maybe it’s different for everybody—I sure don’t know—but I’m telling you there was no light. I can’t remember much before I got here—memories of my life fuzzy and no recollection of the trip at all. But I know there wasn’t any light. I’m sure of that. I was scared actually because it was so dark; then I heard this voice and believe me it was not what I was expecting to hear either.
“You going to waste eternity laying there?” the voice sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it and I wasn’t ready to open my eyes just yet anyway. I was still trying to become accustomed to the body I seemed to be inhabiting. It was familiar and foreign—mine and a stolen vessel—all at once.
“Mrs. Smith, that is no way to greet new souls.” This voice wasn’t familiar at all, but it was gentler than the first—calming in a way that proved only to grate on my nerves.
“Ms. Hannah,” the voice called Mrs. Smith said—as though she was not particularly fond of the more friendly voice—guess that made two of us, “perhaps you would like to tend to one of the charges you have been assigned and let me handle mine in the way I see fit.” Mrs. Smith did not seem well-suited to subtlety.
“No, that’s okay, ma’am, mine isn’t here just yet; I have plenty of time,” I got the impression that ‘Ms. Hannah’ was only pretending not to hear the faint sneer in Mrs. Smith’s tone. Almost made me like her a little actually. The surface I was stretched out on shifted as someone came closer and the younger woman spoke again. “Come on now dear, open your eyes for me.” I’d have rolled them if they were open. Did she think I was a puppy? Did I get a biscuit if I listened?
“She won’t respond to that.” Mrs. Smith snapped, then suddenly something—I’m pretty sure a foot—nudged my shoulder. “Get up now, we haven’t the time for this.” The griping tone appealed to me more than the overly sugary one and I attempted to flex my fingers against my sides, trying to collect myself so I could do as she bid. My body remained still as I got no response from my extremities almost causing me to panic but the voices continued above me, unconcerned.
“You have eternity, Mrs. Smith.” Ms. Hannah scolded her, “and you shouldn’t kick them.” The gentler feeling of someone dusting my shoulder off accompanies her words. I try to shy away from the unfamiliar hand—skin crawling at the touch—but don’t feel myself moving; my muscles are completely unresponsive to my commands.
“Well, don’t tell her that.” I can’t help but laugh at the exasperated huff and my eyes open as I do. Warmth floods me and my nose scrunches up as my fingers suddenly come back to life, digging hard into my hips from where I was still attempting to flex them. Above me stand two women, one smirks having won her argument and the other looks flustered by my sudden outburst. “There you go, she’s awake. Scurry off.” I recognize Mrs. Smith immediately and not just by the voice I’ve been listening to.
“I can stay if you’d like.” Ms. Hannah, a younger woman offers but I just smile and shake my head. She frowns but reluctantly wishes me luck and leaves. I relax a bit as she takes her overly perky aura elsewhere.
I stare up at Mrs. Smith for a moment before taking stock of my surroundings. I’m lying flat on my back on some sort of soft, fluffy material. A little way away another body lays in a similar position only no one is hovering over them and I wonder how long I was here before anybody noticed.
“Well come along then,” Mrs. Smith holds out her hand and I let her pull me to my feet. I expect the soft puff we’re standing on to give way beneath my feet but it smooths out into a paved walkway and I follow behind Mrs. Smith easily, my body now working properly.
I feel like I should ask where we’re going, or where we are even, but I can’t seem to feel overly concerned. I trail behind Mrs. Smith at an easy pace and look around at everything. To our right, a group of children runs past laughing and screaming good-naturedly as they trip over themselves and each other. An elderly couple steps out of their way, the puffy, cloud-like ground hardening beneath them as their feet touch it. The woman smiles at them as their little feet patter on the walkway but there is a touch of sadness in her expression as she watches them, as well. I look the other way and see a pond sparkling in the bright sunlight. Behind that a honey-golden field of hay or wheat brushes over itself in soft waves as a gentle breeze ruffles the surface of the water. The banks of the small blue mass are littered here and there with men and women dipping lines in the water.
“So, all the choices in the world and that’s what you choose to go eternity wearing?” Mrs. Smith’s question guides my wondering eyes downward. I’m not wearing shoes but a fuzzy pair of socks, keeping me from feeling the strange ground.
Above that a pair of jagged jeans without knees, decorated with paint smears and splatters, hanging on by a thread to my hips. I’m wearing a white t-shirt that is also stained with half handprints and weird shapes left behind from a life-long habit of accidently leaning on wet canvases and paint trays. The piece of my outfit that gives me pause though is the thread-bare cobalt-blue hoodie tied around my waist.
I know Mrs. Smith is waiting for an answer but I can’t focus on the question as my hands stray to the knot in the sleeves. I slip the worn cloth loose from itself, lift it off my hips, and pull it to my face with shaking fingers. The familiar, warm smell of Trey’s cologne clings to the material and I feel tears burn the backs of my eyes as I crush the soft cotton against my face. I draw a ragged breath of his scent deep into my lungs before quickly tugging the jacket over my head when Mrs. Smith said my name in a much gentler tone.
“You’re one to talk, of course.” I say, finally responding to her question. She had to hear the choked catch of my voice but she decides to play along like I knew she would. Some things never change after all.
“Well at least I don’t look like a hobo,” she says, teasingly wrinkling her nose at my appearance. She tugs at the hem of her button up, smoothing the material over the tops of her slacks. “Now come along, we’ve got places to be,” she turns away from me again and her sensible shoes continue clacking down our path. Fisting my hands into the too long sleeves so my fingers are tucked away I hurry after her. She stops without warning and steps off the path.
“Here,” she says gesturing to the puff of ground in front of her as though I’m supposed to see something. She glances back at me and rolls her eyes at the confused look on my face. Looking around I see other souls kneeling and leaning or reaching into holes in the clouds. I look back at Mrs. Smith, still confu