Blurb About Alamana

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sample writing as well as introduce you to Alamana

Submitted: August 02, 2018

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Submitted: August 02, 2018

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I think of Alamana a lot. Mostly in the form of dreams, of tall pines, soft grass and dark shadows slowly spreading as the sun sets. I have tons of stories about Alamana, and recall in great detail so much, even though it has been 10 years since I left. Plenty of great ghost story materials, but that's for another story, if anyone wants to read them.

I now live 200 miles South, in Southern Florida, close to Parkland. The city made famous for that school shooting February 14th, 2017. Not that that's important. I was working at a parts place, nothing exciting, just living paycheck to paycheck like most 20 something year olds lately. Standing behind the counter, the rolling clouds of a building thunderstorm my only entertainment. For some reason, storms either brought people in in droves for batteries and wiper blades, or people didn't come in at all. Looks like it was going to be a long, quiet shift.

Suddenly, the door opened, chime echoing through the empty racks. I looked towards the door, but the smell hit me first- seabreeze and earth, and a spice of something sinister. I never realized how weak my nose has become with city living- all I could smell was the Alamana scent. Nothing more. But the smell sent me tumbling back to darting barefoot through the trees, the soles of my feet protecting myself and gripping the earth in a natural way. Hunting friends down through the forest, scenting the air and listening for twig snaps and unusual russling. Crashing past wild deer, boar and turkeys in the game of Pursuit, and having to backtrack and apologize, because they were here first and we were just playing. Usually we would get a huff or a ruffle of feathers, but all in good fun. I remember curling up in hidden fields only to be awaken by others joining me for an afternoon nap. Sometimes human, sometimes a young fawn or quail. Many felt protected around us, but everyone in the woods knew humans were not the Alpha predator. I forgot how in Alamana, almost all your senses were heightened, except the sense of time. The sounds of the storm brought me back to reality.

I eyed him a bit, noting the same dull look in his eyes I felt were in mine until he walked in. I wondered if the city had changed my scent so much to hide I, too, was from Alamana. Now, though, I played my hand carefully. He had come in for a battery, shocker, but it gave me an unusual opportunity because we record cell phone numbers and names for Warranty purposes. Casually, I asked for his number, and heard the familiar digits- 386. I smiled, asked where in Volusia he was from, and watched as his eyes became a little less dull. He named a large city, Daytona, and I said I was from a town over, Deltona. Actually, closer to New Smyrna. Just a small lost little city. Suddenly, a virality of light entered his eyes and he quietly said 'Alamana' as if it was a sacred whisper.   I nodded and watched his nostrils flared as he took in a smell, my scent, and his eyes were alight. I wanted to ask him if he still had the cuts on his feet even after all the years, or can still smell a storm wind from a basic wind. I wanted to know if he climbed the pines too, his palms calloused from gripping young branches, scaling to the top. I wondered if he saw the shadows in the twilight, beckoning him into the darkness.

I wondered if he ever went. Or heard the voices whispering just outside an open window. But I didn't ask him any of these. Instead, I just smiled, and asked him out, asking if he needed help installing the battery. He looked confused, but soon accepted my silent truth- This city, any city outside of Alamana could not handle what we knew. What we could do. A part of me wanted to run again, leave the cemented world behind, but it would raise questions. It took long enough to adjust, to remember shoes are needed anytime you leave the house and sniffing another is not a proper greeting.

I sat up last night, thinking of the stranger, and remembering. The garlicy smell of my husband shrouded our bed, and dimly, I could hear the electricity humming in the walls. Things I never noticed before, like the shapes moving just outside my vision, in the shadows, or the stale taste of artificially chilled air. I feel a maddening spread, a tightness taking over. I never felt trapped in the city before, but that night, I think I would give a trip into the darkness with the shadows for a chance to run barefoot through Alamana again.


© Copyright 2018 S. Gray. All rights reserved.

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