The calling

Chapter 1

I gazed outside. The darkness spread over the sky and hid all the remaining light. The drops were falling heavily, pattering against the window of my bedroom. I wrapped the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders. It was cold. Instinctively, I touched the surface of the glass with my right palm. It left behind a merely visible imprint. I wondered how the palm could be overdrawn by so many lines. Lines with potential meaning, as a palmist would imply. I once visited one because I felt lost and sought out spiritual help. She was of Haitian descent. A very tall and skinny lady, her beauty reminded me of the buds of the black velvet petunia, that used to grow in my mother’s garden. Fragile but still fierce. She took my hand and followed each line with her index finger. “You will suffer at great length. A big loss is waiting for you, but you will find what you truly seek,” she said in her thick accent. I couldn’t relate to what she said. “How would my palm, something so unimpressive, be able to tell me how my life would look like? Let alone in such a superficial way.”

Thunder started growling through the thick grey clouds. The sound reminded me of the galloping horses that were tied to Achilles’ majestic chariot, dragging Hector’s dead body over the dried skin of their own mother, Gaia. How would she have felt, if someone told her, that her life was written on the surface of her palms? “Agatha, are you there?” I flinched at the sound of Frederick’s voice. “What time was it?” It seemed so early in the day. I turned around and walked out of the door. My bare feet touching the cool marble floor, leaving an imprint behind. “Do lines on the bottom of our feet also tell a story about our lives and destinies?” Frederick was kneeling on the floor, still wearing his raincoat and the rain boots that were both soaked in water. The tears that the sky cried for the loss of people’s faith were gliding down on the rubber of his boots. “Look what I’ve found in the garden between the gardenias. I thought this little boy lost his way, but when I looked closer, I saw that he had a wound. Probably from a fight with the neighbor’s cat. I decided to take him in to treat the wound and then set him free again in the valleys.” Frederick has always been passionate about helping animals, especially the small ones that couldn’t defend themselves well enough. And this hedgehog was, despite his quills, a small helpless animal. The passion he brought up for those creatures was what made him a great veterinarian. I couldn’t relate to the urge to help animals. I’m not heartless, I just never had a bond with any kind of non-human being. As a kid, I once was gifted a guinea pig. A white one. I called it Flake Pops because, at that time, I was pretty obsessed with the cereals called Flake Pops. I managed to keep Flake Pops alive for a month, but then I got bored in keeping a pet and taking care of it. So, I let him die. Die. “How could I be so cruel back then? As parents, you often fail to explain the depths of death to your own kids. But again, why would I care? I don’t have kids.”, I thought to myself. “Agatha, are you here?” Fredericks’s voice pulled me back into reality. “Yes sorry, I’m just very exhausted from work. I had a difficult meeting with Mr. Rockahue again. Do whatever you have to do with the hedgehog. I’m going to take a bath.” I turned around and walked to the bathroom, not waiting for Frederick to reply to anything I had said. As soon as I got into the bathroom, I closed the door and turned on the tap. The stream of warm water was strong and produced steam immediately. I took one of my favorite bath foams, “the sounds of ylang-ylang” and poured more than needed into the tub. While the water was slowly filling the vessel, I stripped off my clothes and let them fall on the ground. I took all of my hair and tied it up in a messy knot. The mirror was already covered in steam, not letting me see any of my facial features. I didn’t want to see them. I must have looked tired. Aged. Dead.

I slowly dipped one foot into the water. The movement triggered small waves, the same way a stone hits the surface of a lake after you’ve thrown it. Then, more and more, I let my body immerse into the wet. This felt like safety to me. The water surrounding almost every single part of me. I laid my head on the edge and closed my eyes. I slowly left the realm of people and drifted away into my private kingdom of dreams.

White. Everywhere white. It took me a while to get used to the brightness. The snow was falling. It was soft fluffy snow, pure in its nature, unsullied. I turned my gaze down to watch the landscape. Pine trees covered in a white glittery coat. A frozen lake. I wanted to step towards it, but I came to realize that my feet were tied to the ground. Around them a puddle of blood. It was fresh blood. The bright red color and the scent of iron gave it away. I looked to the right. Nothing. I looked to the left. Nothing. I turned around. Her.

“Agatha, Agatha! Wake up!” Fredericks’s voice was breaking through the water. His strong hands gripped my shoulders and lifted my body out of the tub. I felt a sudden cold sensation all over my body like I lost the membrane that covered it. “What on earth are you doing?” he yelled at me, a look of terror on his face. I was numb. I merely stared at him with emptiness in my eyes. “You could’ve died!” “I’m sorry.” But the truth is, I wasn’t. “Get out of the tub, the water isn’t even warm anymore. No more baths for you. You scared the hell out of me!” he yelled while rubbing me with a soft white towel, as pure as the snow I saw in my dreams.

Chapter 2

The ships docked at the harbor. One after the other. They all carried gargantuan containers on their spines, filled with numerous items, ready to be sold in the whole country. Leaning towards the harbor bridge I watched the captain’s maneuver their way to the docks. Soon it was time to depart from the life I was chasing after. I poured in too much energy and time, wasted it all for nothing. The bouquet of white lilies that my hands held tightly filled the air with their creamy, strong scent. I used to love lilies because they represent the life of an unborn soul to me. One that has to discover all the colors that life offers. I turned my head around. Life around me was busy. People were exercising, mostly jogging. Others were having an afternoon stroll with their partners or lovers. Laughing kids from a nearby playground filled the air with joy and excitement. Their moms were watching them from afar, having a chat with other moms. Life looked so idyllic on days like these. Even the sun finally broke through after a long period of rain. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, enjoying the fine tickles of warm sunlight on my skin. I think she would like it too if she were here right now, I thought smiling. When did the beginning become the end?

Taking a last breath, I decided to get moving again. The pavement was covered in golds, browns, and deep copper hues from the leaves that fell from the trees, a sign of its slow death. At least it gets reborn next spring, I thought. After crossing multiple streets, I walked along the stony path up the hill that led to the graveyard. At the top a small city of tombstones spread over the ground, enclosed by a dark steel fence. I opened the gate and stepped in. Every tombstone was different from its neighbor, each telling a unique story. I crossed several rows before arriving at the last one. The grave I was visiting was placed at the left end of the row. It was the most beautiful spot on the yard because it was located next to a fence overgrown with roses, creating sad red heaven. The lilies I brought the last time were already withered to replace them. “The fresh ones looked so much nicer on the tombstone.” Everything had its own life. From birth till death we live through the ravages of time, accepting each bruise or scar with open arms because they shape who we become in the course of our lifetime. “I wish I could see you one last time. Hold you one last time. Smell you one last time. You were barely there but you’re completely gone.” I stood there for a few more minutes before turning my back to it and walking away. Saying goodbye was always the hardest. And it didn’t change when the people you loved were dead. Instead, feelings stirred up, even the ones you hid or you purposely forgot.

On my way down the road, the caretaker walked up towards me. Luìz. He was already in his seventies but was fitter than most his age. ”!Hola senora Agatha! Isn’t it a lovely day?” “Hi, Luìz. Yes indeed. The sun came out again.” He looked down at my hand, still holding the withered lilies. “I see you replaced the old ones. I’m sure the person will appreciate it. It’s good to keep the dead in mind. They remind us how gifted we are, ¿No es asì?” “That’s right. We all will find an end one day. The question is if we also get the chance to be buried on a graveyard as beautiful as yours.” “Ay senora, I do my best to give the dead one last pleasure on the place they once called home. No biggie.”, he said smiling. I smiled back, nodded at him, and walked along. I wish I could call this place home too.

Chapter 3

“You look sad today. Is everything alright?” I looked up from the manuscript I was skimming through. Damon leaned on the door frame looking at me with a concerned expression on his still youthful face. “I’m fine. Thank you. There’s just a lot of work to be done. That’s all.” “Okay, but if there’s anything you want to talk about, my door is open.”, he replied with a simper. “And by the way, I got an interesting new manuscript you might want to read instead of the one you’re on now.” “Sure, send it to me, I’m going to give it a try.” With that he walked out of my office, leaving me alone inside the four walls of my own. We both met in our studies and after our graduation, we started out as interns at the same company and worked our way up to become the leading literary agents in the country. Over the years, we built up a solid partner- and friendship that was based on trust and honesty. Seven years ago, we decided to step out of the company’s shadow and establish our own. We had a solid customer base, which made it easy to enter the business. The manuscript I was currently reading through wasn’t exceptionally great. It was a nice story, but the author didn’t put enough effort into it. The characters were shallow and the storyline was crafted in a way that confused the reader more than giving insight on the deep meaning of the underlying message. I was about to call my assistant to tell her that we weren’t going to publish this author when my phone rang. Frederick. I didn’t bother answering it and let it go straight to voicemail, listening to it after the call ended. “Hey babe, my sister called me a second ago to invite us over for dinner tonight. Malcolm got the scholarship and they want to celebrate it with all of their friends and family. It’s going to be a nice party. Make sure to be ready around eight. I’m going to get gifts.” I was about to roll my eyes at the sound of her name. But my assistant passed the glass wall of my office so I got a hold on myself. I disliked Fredericks’s sister Carrie. She was loud, chatty and so over the top. Everything had to be perfect and there was no space for human flaws. But wasn’t it exactly that what made us so beautiful? I turned my chair around to look out of the window. My office was on the twentieth floor of an enormous skyscraper. From above I could see people roam the busy streets, taxis trying to make their way through the rush hour traffic and vendors selling newspapers. The street lights were already on, breaking through the darkness with beams of light like the lighthouse does when the storm whirls up the sea and the waves splash against the cliffs. It was six-thirty. I didn’t bother going home first to change and to freshen up. Instead, I got up and walked to the safe that I hid in my office room. I opened it and took out what I hid inside. My diary. A picture of Damon and me on the day we launched our company. A picture of me and Frederick at our own wedding. And a picture of what could have been my future. The frame that surrounded the picture was made of dark mahogany wood, crested with exquisite ornaments and an engraving “12. January 2017 - Some things are more precious because they don’t last long. – Oscar Wilde.” With my fingertips I stroke the glass surface. You left me behind while taking all my joy and happiness with you. Wasn’t hurting me already enough for you? Sadness came over me like an avalanche rolling down the mountains, destroying all the bright feelings that didn’t exist anymore. I couldn’t look at it any longer, otherwise, it would stir up old emotions that I buried a long time ago. I put all of the things back into the safe, closing it carefully. Then I got up and walked over to Damons’ office. “Frederick left me a message. I’m going to Carrie’s scholarship get-together for Malcolm.” “Ugh, that doesn’t sound like a pleasant evening. I can see why you make such a grumpy face.” I had to smirk a little. “I wish I could just put a big fat sock in her mouth, so I could finally enjoy the peace and quietness. But Frederick wouldn’t let me. I don’t understand how he doesn’t get annoyed by the constant gossip and showing off.” “Maybe he just got used to it. Or he secretly drinks an awesome medicine that makes you deaf for a couple of hours.” “I wish I could get a remedy like that. What are your plans for tonight?” “I’m meeting up with the potential new client for dinner to discuss her manuscript. It would be cool if you could join us. Since you always have a great take on newbies.” “I wish I could. It would be far more pleasant. Don’t forget to send me the book. I’m going to drive to Carrie’s now. Frederick won’t be happy if I am late.” “Sure do that, I’ll keep you updated on the client. If everything goes wrong, you know where to find me.” “I do, thanks. See you then.” “Sure.” And with that I left his office, oblivious to the way his eyes were resting on my back.

Information

Title: The calling (the current title)

genre: Mystery, Drama, Fiction

age range: +20

word count: 2668 Words

author name: Priscilla Mutschlechner

why your project is a good fit: This story/book is a good fit for the Trident Media Group because it is a fictional drama that features a very realistic look of character integrity of a female lead and how that manifests itself in her life. The overarching theme deals with loss and grief. The protagonist questions her place in her world as a woman, wife, and mother. There are other fictional dramas published through Trident Media Group that deal with the internal struggle of female protagonists. Therefore it would be a good fit.

hook/synopsis: For years now Agatha is dealing with the enormous loss in her life, caused by herself and the people that surround her. While fighting anger, sadness, and grief, she seeks redemption. She tries to hide her emotions from the outside world, but they constantly get revealed by her dead child. The hauntings cause Agatha to ignore her surroundings more and more. Her husband and her best friend are being cast aside. Will she be able to come to terms with her loss, find herself, and let go of the past?

target audience: Adults

your bio: Born and raised in Switzerland in a multicultural family Priscilla Mutschlechner was being early introduced to books and stories. Over the years her love and enthusiasm for writing evolved. Although she went to study Business Administration, majoring in HR, her passion never ceased.

platform: Up until now my work has been shared with friends and family as well as here on prose. I do own a social media account but that is not used for my creative work yet.

education: Bachelor in Business Administration, major in Human Resources

experience: Being young I enjoyed writing as much as I do now, but I’ve only been writing in English for only a couple of years. Before I mostly wrote in German but it never felt as honest and pure to me. I fell in love with English when I was a kid, and that love has never faded. Writing gives me a break from reality, creative freedom, and joy.

personality/writing style: I’d describe my writing style on the more poetic influenced side. I like it dreamy and imaginary. But not too descriptive. When I wrote the story I tried to “become” Agatha, to more easily describe what she felt. I want the reader to enjoy the story and to be able to identify with the characters on some level.

likes/hobbies: Writing poems and short stories, painting with watercolor and acrylic, drawing and illustrating, as well as reading.

hometown: Bern

age: 24