The Dance of the Unforgotten (Short story excerpt)
Currently being submitted for literary representation
FROM THE ROOFTOP of the clocktower, Loni could see the dead, floating above the village. The night air soothed her mind, and the slate shingles pressed cool against her bare feet.
The small world about her was a regret, of silent buildings, yawning thin grey puffs from their chimneys. An hour before, she had been in her room—making last preparations for the journey; the ropes, the fuel, the balloon.
As she stepped to the edge the moon watched, holding her in the half-light. The bell tolled, and the doves took flight, circling once about her and then vanishing into the night.
A young couple under the streetlamp below were the only souls to see Loni step off the peak. She fell slowly, gently swaying until she drifted above the lovers.
Turning the dial, she worked the burner to a proper flame, warming the air in the balloon that was tethered to her harness. As she rose, she blew them a kiss and called back, “I’m off with the angels…and I pray that I’ll never return.”
(Full version available upon request)
