[CLOSED] Advertise Your Undiscovered Work (AYUW) - 2014

Set Eight Winner: A Time Before 1968

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Whatpad Name: thebedroomwriter

Tittle: A Time Before 1968

Genera(s): General Fiction

    

Personal Message to the Audinece:

"Hey everyone! I feel really honored to get this chance to show my story! It's something that I've been plotting out in my head for quite some time now, and even if the story is still at its "infancy stage", I have more in store for you. :) There's an important lesson that I really want to show through this story. It hasn't come out yet, but it will in the succeeding chapters. I hope you give my book a chance and check it out! :)"

    

Synopsis: 

There was a time in the past, when Andy Wolf's most vivid memories were a part of this world's reality. During that time, he wasn't Andy; he was a man named Clay Wilson, who died in 1968. As a young boy who was born with a dead man's memories of love, life, and death, Andy struggles to be at peace— and the only way to achieve it is to meet his love from a previous lifetime. 

  

Prologue: 

"I wish you could stay."

The young woman leans in closer as her brown, doe-like eyes slowly fill with tears. Her long, brown hair waves with the fresh autumn breeze. As always, everything about her captivates me. She gently clasps my hand, and I am at a loss for words. We sit there in silence and watch the last summer sun set behind the clouds as it bids farewell to our little town. I clasp her hand tighter as I lean in closer to whisper.

"The summer sun has to set, but it doesn't mean that summer will never come again." It is a weak effort to comfort her, but it is worth a try.

"But the summer sun doesn't bleed." She takes a deep breath and struggles to keep her composure. "The summer sun doesn't die in combat. Can you assure me that you'll come back in one piece?"

The truth is not for a heart full of worry. I know that she will be able to find comfort only in the delusion of an uncertain promise.

"I promise. I promise I'll come back," I tell her, but I don't really know if I can. The future is so uncertain to me, but it it were only up to me, I would definitely come back for her—just for her.

The tree watches over us while its leaves fall one-by-one; mimicking the short minutes that pass as afternoon light turns to darkness. We talk about the doubtful future and hold each other for the next few hours. Both of us know that my life as a soldier will be hard for the two of us; harder than how our wildest imaginations picture it, but in the midst of worry, there was hope. A hope that someday, we'd get married, have two kids, live in a cozy house, get everything we dreamed of, and grow old together—a hope of a future after the war. The night goes on and my nose fills with the scent of her hair, the scent that overpowers the fragrance of the flowers that surround us. 

The stars peep through the clouds to watch us enjoy our last few hours together. She looks at me with a loving gaze that hints at her promise to wait for me. To get that kind of assurance from her, I must be the luckiest man in the world. She is beautiful, intelligent, charming; the epitome of every man's dream—in my eyes, at least. I'm just lucky that the stars aligned in my favor, and even with all my flaws, all my quirks, all my shallow antics, she chose me. I am not worthy of her, but after six months of undeserved reciprocated affection, here she is in my arms.

The night's pitch-black darkness begins to engulf the sky, and the sounds of the crickets echo to remind me that the moment will have to come to an end.

It's 11 o'clock. Your parents will be worried sick if you're not home anytime soon." I don't want her to go, but I know she has other people beyond me.

"I know." Her vibrant smile turns into a frown and the comforting breeze transforms into a cold air of silence. "Before we part ways tonight, I want to give you something."

She reaches into the pocket of her pink dress and brings out a picture of us on the train tracks. Her eyes well up with tears; she thinks of the inevitable reality of tomorrow. She quickly embraces me and I feel her tremble in my arms.

"You promised to come back, and I know you're a man of your word," She says before she locks us in a tighter embrace, "this is my favorite picture of us and I'm just lending this to you. Give it back, okay?"

I open my eyes, and see that I'm no longer on the hill. I become conscious of my surroundings and it is clear that she is no longer with me.

Once again, I wake up to a dark room with a faint light from a glowing bear-shaped lamp plugged into the socket. I look at my tiny hands enclosed in cotton gloves and marvel at the yellow, plastic stars on the mobile that circle my tiny head. The sounds of old children's songs fill my ears and I find myself looking at the white bars that enclose me in a soft, white cushion. I try to speak, and all that comes out of my mouth is a cry or a mumble that no one seems to understand. It's been a month since I started waking up like this. It's all a mistake. This is not my body.

An older woman in the room smiles and reaches out to carry me as she says, "Andy! You're awake at this hour?"

How many times do I have to tell her? I'm not Andy. My name is Clay Wilson.

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