PREVIEW: Waking of the Dead
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The LOST GENRE GUILD
Biblical Speculative Fiction
| Steve Doyle's short story The Waking of the Dead" can be found in Light at the Edge of Darkness along with 26 other stories of Biblical speculative fiction.
Read more about the author, Steve Doyle. |
She was there! Thank God, he hadn’t missed her. Billy took a few steps in her
direction. “Natalie.”
The young girl turned around to face him.
The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. Her lips trembled as she looked at him
through red, watery eyes. Tear tracks stained puffy cheeks. Long red hair hung
unkempt about her shoulders.
“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asked.
Fresh tears welled up in those green eyes and she choked out her words through
sobs. “I . . . can’t . . . see you . . . anymore, Billy!”
“Why not, Nat? What happened?” Billy closed the distance between them.
“It’s . . . my parents . . . they say . . . I’m too young . . . to see boys . . . to see
. . .” She stopped and inhaled deeply, a teardrop slid down her cheek. She balled her
hands into fists and blurted out, “They just don’t want me to be happy! I hate them!
I hate them!”
“It’s okay, Natalie. Don’t cry.” He folded her into his arms, felt her heartbeat
hammering against his chest. “I don’t like it, but they are your parents and you have
to do what they say.”
She shoved, pushing him away. “What? You don’t want me either!”
“No, I didn’t mean that.”
“You don’t care! I thought you loved me but you don’t! I believed you when you said
it but it’s all a lie!”
“No, Nat . . .”
She turned and ran from him before he could finish. He heard her say something that
sounded like “no one loves me.” Her red hair waved in the wind while her shoes
crunched on the carpet of oak leaves. He took a step to follow, but thought better of
it. Every time he tried to talk to her when she was upset, he wound up saying the
wrong thing. Better to wait until she’d calmed down. He shoved his hands deep into
his pockets and shuffled home, kicking dead leaves along the way. The October air
turned cold.
Days later, after a long time spent brooding, Billy walked to Natalie’s cottage. As it
loomed in the distance, smoke curling from its chimney, he silently rehearsed his
arguments, steeling himself for a confrontation with her parents. We’re living in the
sixteenth century! Surely times have changed. Your ideas are old-fashioned and stale.
You’ve got to allow Natalie to see me if she so wishes!
He strode up to the heavy wooden door and knocked loudly. He held his head high
and puffed out his chest with a deep breath. He could smell the peat smoke. Here
goes.
The door opened a crack. The sight of the puffy, tear-streaked face changed his
attitude. His carefully rehearsed speech abandoned him and he exhaled his
confidence.
direction. “Natalie.”
The young girl turned around to face him.
The sight of her stopped him in his tracks. Her lips trembled as she looked at him
through red, watery eyes. Tear tracks stained puffy cheeks. Long red hair hung
unkempt about her shoulders.
“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” he asked.
Fresh tears welled up in those green eyes and she choked out her words through
sobs. “I . . . can’t . . . see you . . . anymore, Billy!”
“Why not, Nat? What happened?” Billy closed the distance between them.
“It’s . . . my parents . . . they say . . . I’m too young . . . to see boys . . . to see
. . .” She stopped and inhaled deeply, a teardrop slid down her cheek. She balled her
hands into fists and blurted out, “They just don’t want me to be happy! I hate them!
I hate them!”
“It’s okay, Natalie. Don’t cry.” He folded her into his arms, felt her heartbeat
hammering against his chest. “I don’t like it, but they are your parents and you have
to do what they say.”
She shoved, pushing him away. “What? You don’t want me either!”
“No, I didn’t mean that.”
“You don’t care! I thought you loved me but you don’t! I believed you when you said
it but it’s all a lie!”
“No, Nat . . .”
She turned and ran from him before he could finish. He heard her say something that
sounded like “no one loves me.” Her red hair waved in the wind while her shoes
crunched on the carpet of oak leaves. He took a step to follow, but thought better of
it. Every time he tried to talk to her when she was upset, he wound up saying the
wrong thing. Better to wait until she’d calmed down. He shoved his hands deep into
his pockets and shuffled home, kicking dead leaves along the way. The October air
turned cold.
Days later, after a long time spent brooding, Billy walked to Natalie’s cottage. As it
loomed in the distance, smoke curling from its chimney, he silently rehearsed his
arguments, steeling himself for a confrontation with her parents. We’re living in the
sixteenth century! Surely times have changed. Your ideas are old-fashioned and stale.
You’ve got to allow Natalie to see me if she so wishes!
He strode up to the heavy wooden door and knocked loudly. He held his head high
and puffed out his chest with a deep breath. He could smell the peat smoke. Here
goes.
The door opened a crack. The sight of the puffy, tear-streaked face changed his
attitude. His carefully rehearsed speech abandoned him and he exhaled his
confidence.
The Lost Genre Guild's mission is to promote quality works of Biblical Speculative Fiction (spec-fic)
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
BILLY WOUND HIS WAY over the path through the dark woods.
He was late but it wasn’t his fault, his parents had made him do
chores right after dinner. He’d hurried to finish them and get
out here to meet Natalie, hoping she hadn’t given up on him.
He didn’t want that to happen again, she’d been mad for weeks
that time.
He panted, nearly out of breath, and the smell of oak leaves
filled his nostrils. Most of the trees were bare and the late
October air felt cool; once the sun went down it would turn
cold. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers as he broke
through the trees and stood at the edge of the grove.
He was late but it wasn’t his fault, his parents had made him do
chores right after dinner. He’d hurried to finish them and get
out here to meet Natalie, hoping she hadn’t given up on him.
He didn’t want that to happen again, she’d been mad for weeks
that time.
He panted, nearly out of breath, and the smell of oak leaves
filled his nostrils. Most of the trees were bare and the late
October air felt cool; once the sun went down it would turn
cold. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers as he broke
through the trees and stood at the edge of the grove.
