From that day forward, I would find any reason possible to stop in the small shop and visit with my angel—even purchasing small presents for my mother to justify the trip. Mother noticed the change in behavior immediately and began encouraging me to invite the girl to dinner. When I gathered enough courage and offered the invite, my angel accepted more quickly than I expected. I felt emboldened by her reaction. That first evening with her was magical and perfect. It was that night that I decided to arrange to ask for her hand in marriage and a refusal would not be tolerated. Spending more time with her only served to increase my desire for her. I became a tall, flaming beacon fire in the dark of night, burning a message of love across the sky. Nothing had ever meant more to me.
The day I married my angel was one of the single most joyful days of my life. My mother wouldn’t stop crying. She repeatedly told me how proud my father would have been of me. My new wife shed a few tears too. During our honeymoon, she explained that she never stopped thinking of me from the first time we met at her father’s candy counter. Her suffering had paralleled my own for all these years of separation. My words flowed easily now and I shared my heart’s longing for her and vowed to never leave her side. She was my universe: my heart’s reason for beating. I’d never been happier than I was with my love by my side.
The first few years of our relationship were like living in a dream that you read about or see in screenings. We traveled the entire planet together and experienced everything that caught our preferences. Life has so much to offer and we both wanted to see it all. Sharing all those wonderful days with my angel gave me satisfaction deep within my soul. When we entered our fourth year of marriage, we began preparing for a family of our own only to discover that she was incapable of bearing children. With all the technologies our civilizations had discovered and mastered, this was one challenge yet to be overcome. We were both devastated, but my angel took it the hardest. She felt inadequate and useless. In her mind, her value came from the ability to bear and rear offspring. Adoption was suggested and quickly rejected. It was our bloodline that was vital to her psyche. Anything less was fraudulent. It took a few more years for her to recover from this mind-trap, but eventually she did. She began to volunteer her time more and more with troubled or abused children and foster homes. At times, it felt as if she was running away from me. Constantly, I would remind her of my love and devotion, but it still felt different. She didn’t love herself anymore.
Our marriage settled into a comfortable routine of busy work and avoidance for many years with occasional blips of happiness, but never the untethered joy and bliss we had in the beginning. As the decades flew by, we barely noticed the changes occurring in our bodies until my mother passed peacefully in her sleep. That moment jarred me out of the hypnosis of comfortable sameness I’d entered. I decided that moment to win my soulmate back and engaged a campaign of relentless, unconditional love immediately. I showered her with affection and attention, performed extraordinary tasks of devotion, and made passionate love to her at every opportunity. The secret I discovered was that if we acted like we were in love, we found ourselves in love…meaningfully. It worked. She slowly began to brighten the rooms of our homes again with her smile and laughter. Plans for trips and excursions became commonplace. She even mentioned adoption again without pain. The heat in our embrace had returned and it warmed my soul completely. She was my everything and I hers.
We never actually adopted, but the long list of children we helped and grew to be successful, productive members of their community gave us both reason to be proud. Letters and awards were bestowed upon us by our communities and the families we’d helped. It was all very flattering, but unnecessary. Much more time passed and my beard followed my hair’s lead by turning a bright silver tone that made my beautiful wife’s green eyes glow with delight when she kissed me. I began to look more and more like my father, but my beautiful wife remained timeless. She made me smile every morning when we woke together in the gathering daylight of our twin suns. Occasionally, we would remain in bed, lazily sharing the day together until prior agreements demanded our attentions again. Every time I would hug her, I could feel the tension from a busy day instantly melt away. The sensation of waking in the middle of the night and curling up to her back close enough to breathe in her scent from the exposed skin of her beautiful neck was enough to inspire prayers of thanks to our creators.
If someone had told me that falling in love could continue in perpetuity, I would have thought them mad, until I first met my angel and finally won her heart in marriage. Each day that passed, a new discovery of the depth of her complexity and subtlety would surface and surprise me. How could I have lived so closely with this gorgeous woman and still feel that I only know a small part of her? While we were adventuring through life together, I often found myself wondering at the personal adventure of discovery I had embarked on by becoming her partner, lover, and best friend. The world was our playground and our hearts were priceless jewels.
Our companies and charities grew and prospered each year with exciting challenges and experiences abounding: some more preferable than others, but all appreciated with my love by my side. Together, there was nothing we couldn’t do. For several years, we traveled and met great leaders of many of the different continents that made up our vast planet. The homelands of so many different cultures and civilizations gave us unlimited inspiration. We loved every second we were together. Never having children of our own ironically gave us the freedom to travel at a moments notice, which we did habitually—indulging our wandering whims freely. The amassed fortune from my parents and sizable rivers of revenue from our own various business ventures afforded us generosity that was difficult to rival in any culture we’d ever visited. We actually became something of a legend for some peoples. Legends are always exaggerated, of course, but our constant movement and acts of public generosity garnered regular notoriety.
As we grew older and began to extend our stays at certain preferred properties, it became customary for me to celebrate our wedding anniversary in some unusual manner with friends and loved ones. The events grew every year in size and extravagance until an annual fair developed around the date of our union. Our largest estate in the city where we met would be opened to the public for thirty-six hours: the equivalent of one day. We would make a brief appearance as per tradition for the celebration, but quickly excuse ourselves to allow our guests the freedom to enjoy the evening. It was nice to be remembered each year and flattering for the size of the event, but it became a small burden at times that felt as if it might take the fun out of the initial intention of the act of devotion. That inspired us to begin taking private retreats back to my homeland in the high country. My angel and I would spend weeks rediscovering the beauty of the endless mountain ranges of my father’s property. Our rationale to the public for the excursions was always to check in and monitor our mining concerns in the region, but privately we both craved the time alone. Each trip seemed to center us around the love we still held deeply with our hearts for the other. Nature had a magical way of reminding us of what’s really important. We would sit on the massive porch of our mountain estate and watch the sunset, only to wake the next morning in each other’s embrace. In the high country, the days would blur together until our staff would remind us of the date and impending agreements that required our attentions. Begrudgingly, we would always make our way back to the racing speed of life on our planet, but each year the trips to the mountains became our most desired appointment.
I can still remember my angel’s hair changing from her youthful light brown to a shimmering silver like my beard. She never liked the idea of genetic manipulation for vanity. She considered her body’s decision to change a sacred event that connected directly with her subconscious that should be respected. The new color made her even more beautiful to me. I always loved the idea of matching clothes and colors that she would sport—much to her own chagrin. However, now we could match and she couldn’t ac
cuse me of doing it purposefully. Nature herself dictated that we should be in harmony emotionally and physically, so who was I to argue. This didn’t always amuse my lovely wife, but made me chuckle every time it came up.
We lived this way for so long that I could barely remember my life without her. The years I’d grown up longing for my glowing girl behind the counter felt as a brief moment in comparison to the extremely satisfying decades that had followed. We worked hard together. We played hard together. We dreamed big dreams together. We made passionate love together. We grew old together. Life was perfect in all its imperfections with her. Every challenge we faced, we faced together—and there were many. However, our passion and love for each other made each moment worthwhile. Doubt didn’t exist in our world thanks to our union. She had been made from the fires of the universe’s first breath of life and sent to guide me through eternity. She was my angel.
It would have been our tenth trip to our properties in the high country if our flight had made it to the landing port. We were scheduled to review the mines and stay at our private retreat in the mountains for the summer. It was a pleasant reprieve from the bustle of the giant city that had grown so large over the decades. The quiet seclusion of the mountains gave us time to be together uninterrupted and focus on our love for each other. This was a hard earned habit that we’d developed over the years, especially when so many distractions can be entertaining and tempting. My angel was always my primary focus and me hers, so the decision for the repeat trip was easy to agree on. Unfortunately, the malfunctioning engines had other ideas for our trip and drove us headlong into the side of one the famous peaks of the region. I’ll never forget the look on my angel’s face as the plane plummeted to the ground. She looked serene: almost peaceful. Holding her hand, I leaned in to kiss her face once more in those final seconds and we stared into each other’s eyes for as long as we had left.
There was a huge cracking sound and a force that knocked the wind out of me, then suddenly I was blinded by a bright white light that burned through the core of my being. Colors slowly began to dance around me in vibrant streams of flashes that raced by. I was moving, but couldn’t see to where. It was just a feeling, a sense of knowing, that convinced me of my motion. Everything I’d ever known before felt like entertainment I’d been viewing and not experiencing in person. It was my life, but it wasn’t really me. I had participated, but was only one actor in a vast play that included countless other souls who all helped make it possible. Appreciation for the complexity of life and wonder at the idea of it actually occurring in perfect orchestration overtook me. There was much more to the inner-workings of the universe than I’d ever imagined before. So much I’d taken for granted became revealed as small miracles.
A burst of energy pulsed through me suddenly and the wonder of creation filled my awareness: everything, people, civilizations, planets, stars, singularities, galaxies, the entire universe, and beyond. Time became a construct I could manipulate with just my thoughts. I could see the past. I could see the future. All answers rushed to me uninhibited. I was in bliss. That’s when I felt it—the pull. It was calling to me like a whisper in the rain. The dancing lights around me sped up and grew brighter, blurring together as I flew through infinity. My heart knew what was pulling me, and I knew it was good, so no restraint was offered. The joy of approaching the calling was building inside the center of who I was. There was no doubt that love was at the source of this message. Compelled to answer, I moved faster.
It was my angel calling. When I reached her, the familiar feeling of her surrounded me. Pulling her into me, I encased her in a protective cocoon of love and swirled through space and time, satisfying my unquenchable need for her presence. Over an undefinable amount of time, things became more focused. There were lines now instead of blurred colors, and blotches of darkness separating them. It was these lines that we both decided to explore, just as we had explored our previous lives together. With my angel again by my side, I could go anywhere and do anything. Swirling in and out of each other in ecstasy, we rushed forward on a joyous journey of discovery—just as we always had. Holding onto each other through each new cycle, we searched the universe for its undiscovered secrets. The lines became visions of beauty and wonder that we marveled at for eons: never boring of the infinite possibilities that unfolded before us. We had become joyous wanderers and explorers of the infinite. Then came the moment my angel consciously decided to take shape. There was a pull inside me again and I felt her desire. Always the doting lover, I joined her in her adventure. If we’re together, I’m willing to follow her anywhere.
It took a considerable amount of focus for us both, but there was no rush since time had no sway on us anymore. We swam through space spinning close to each other, basking in the warm glow of a nearby star. The newcomer offered its warm yellow rays of love to us as we spiraled through the void. I could see my lover’s colors begin to take the shape of a new world. The beautiful glow of her green rushed into my view, accompanied by a deep blue that took my breath away. She twirled for me to share her new experience as I orbited her with a familiar silver glow beaming down and my heart full of love. Not long after, she shared a feeling of life with me from inside her. Miraculously, something had joined our journey and taken hold of her presence. My angel finally had children of her own growing on her surface. The impossible had come true and we both shouted with joy from our hearts. My lovely bride was a mother, and I was a father pushing and pulling lovingly on her as she continuously gave birth to more and more souls. Each and every child that joined our journey added to our happiness as we raced through time and space circling each other in our eternal embrace. She is mine, and I am hers—forever.
About Thomas Sweeney
Thomas Sweeney is a first-time novelist. Having found success through music with a number one hit on MP3.com, beating Alanis Morissette and Blink 182 in 2000, Thomas has been a singer, songwriter and musician for over 25 years. His music has appeared on major radio stations nationally and internationally and Thomas has performed with several internationally acclaimed artists.
Wanting to expand his creativity and storytelling skills beyond music, Thomas has now added being an indie author to his repertoire. He’s already working on two new stories, one of which is a continuation of his first novel, “The Harem.”
Thomas has read a lot of great and inspiring books over the years. From training and experience in this wonderful thing we call life, he was inspired to become an author.
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Website: www.theharembook.com
It had been in the back of a taxi, in the summer of 1928, that Lady Ophelia Finchingfield had first realized her views on the wedded state. Perhaps it was his awkward, overly lubricated kiss, or the inept grope upon her breast that brought the revelation. Perhaps it was the conviction that her suitor lacked the brooding depth of a Heathcliff, or a Rochester. Whatever the substance behind her discovery, she accordingly turned down an offer of marriage from the Honourable Percival Huntley-Withington who, at the tender age of twenty-two, had recently succeeded his father as Earl of Woldershire.
Some months earlier, just after Easter, Ophelia had begun her debutante season. She had since attended twelve balls, nineteen cocktail parties, and eleven dinners. Most mornings had seen her riding in Hyde Park, along Rotten Row and Ladies’ Mile, returning to a formal breakfast of kippers, scrambled eggs and sausages.
She had attended polo and cricket matches, had played croquet and lawn tennis, and had tried her hand at archery and at bowls. Her attendance had been sought at intimate concerts, garden parties and picnics.
There had been nights at the opera (where no one listened), and nights at the ballet (where no one watched). It was all too apparent that the real purpose was to be seen. Ophelia had fallen into bed, exhausted, often no earlier than two in the morning.
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nbsp; Not yet halfway through the marathon of endurance, at the end of May, she’d wondered how she would maintain the pace. Her own debutante ball had been scheduled for the first week in August, and she’d begun to feel that her feet would be worn to stumps before it arrived. Moreover, it being her own dance, she’d have no choice but to endure the clutches of every decrepit old wart and every young toad wishing to shuffle her about. She would have a moldy time of it.
There had been little need for her mother, Lady Daphne, to court favor on her behalf, since the family’s wealth alone inspired others to solicit her presence. The Honourable Sir Peter Finchingfield, MP for King’s Lyppe, was heir to a successful turkey farming business. Moreover, he was a rising star in the Conservative party, tipped for a cabinet position, having recently led a vital debate in the House on subsidization of root vegetable growing, with particular reference to swedes and turnips.
