Chapter 1

            There's a single cloud in the sky. It looks so peculiar up there all by its lonesome, the rest of the sky displaying a brilliant blue. Warm, sunny days like these are wonderful for an old woman like myself. Don't have as much to me as I did once, so cold days make it hard for me to stay warm sometimes. All I know is that it's important for me to go on my daily walks. If it gets too hot as it often does in the summer, I know I can rely on the shade of the trees that line the streets and sidewalks. At this time of year, though, the temperature is perfect, so I don't have to worry about that much. It's important for my health to get out and stay active as much as I can. At least that's what my son keeps telling me, but I would do it whether he told me to or not. I know he's looking after me, but I am still his mother, you know. Not like an old woman has much to do at home now anyway.

            87 years. Has it really been that long? I can't tell if it went by fast or slow. It seems like a long time when you just say it like that, but I can still remember back to when I was a child even in an instant, so it really doesn't seem that long after all. And my, what an eventful time I've lived through, as well. World Wars, depression, civil rights... heck, they even shot a man out into space and put him on the moon. It's already been over a decade since then, and over a decade since the good Doctor was killed by those awful people. He did so much for us, and so many others as well. I was a bit old to get involved in that by then, but it made me so happy to see so many working towards improving our place in society. Things are definitely better for us now, even if it still isn't a smooth ride. Well, I suppose I'm too old to be fretting over that now.

            I've lived here in Georgia all my life, and I don't think I'd want to go anywhere else. Charlottesville is a small town, and most of the people are real friendly if they know you. And by goodness, if you lived here and didn't know the name Lydia Carter, they oughta take a switch to your backside. I've lived here since I was a girl, and I could probably tell you every name that's passed through here since '10. Okay, maybe not every name, but it's not a very big town to begin with, so most everybody knows everybody.

My late husband, Jim, rest his soul, was from somewhere in Carolina, but he always talked about how this town caught his fancy. Though, between you and me, I think I might've had a little to do with it, hehe. He always was a charmer, but he was faithful to the last, both to God and to me. I can't remember more than a handful of times he raised his voice or his hand to me, but I guess I wasn't much of a housewife. Also, I think he knew that I could make his life miserable if he didn't treat me right. Nagging him was my favorite pastime outside of my needlework.

            As I walk, everything suddenly darkens a little. I look up, and I see that one cloud in the sky is deciding to block the sun for a moment, as if wanting for attention. Not that I mind clouds every so often, but my, what a selfish little cloud. All up there by yourself, yet you simply can't help but take up the spotlight for a moment. I squint a little at the cloud in disapproval, and after some time it passes by, and the scene regains its former lighting.

            I finally reach the park where I like to walk. It's small, but pleasant, and I come here almost every day. I like feeding the birds, but the squirrels can be pretty stingy and try to take everything sometimes, so I have to shoo them off. I've seen them do plenty of work on this park, but the park itself is, surprisingly, even older than I am. I head to my usual spot under a large maple tree with a bench next to it and pull out a small bag of bird seed.

            As I pull out a pinch of seed from the bag, I feel like it's a little difficult to squeeze my fingers together, and I shake a little bit. I look at my hand, slender but worn from years of needlework. I can feel my age coming on, but I like to think I can still sew and embroider like I used to. That was what I was always best at. Never won a mother of the year award, but I raised the kids the best I could with the time I had. Most of my time was spent running a small shop as a seamstress for many years, just a short way up the street from here. That's how I made my name in this little town, and that's how everyone remembers me.

            Even as I sprinkle bits of seed here and there, I feel rather worn out today. Was it from my walk, or am I just getting old? For now, I simply sit on the bench and rest. This feeling is a little unsettling; I'm not sure why I'm so exhausted. Maybe if I had my embroidery materials with me, I might feel a little better. A lot of people find it tedious, but I love embroidering so much that it can calm me down in an instant.

            I look up through the leaves of the tree reaching out over me and see the sun shimmering through, while making the leaves grow a brilliant green. It's so warm and soothing that my body relaxes. The air smells fresh and a little sweet. I wonder where that little cloud went. It's hard to keep my eyes open, but even when I do it seems like I can't focus now. I try to sit up, but it makes me feel... a little light-headed, and it's getting harder to move... harder to think. My vision is starting to fade as well. I wonder... I wonder if this means my time is up? If so, then... I suppose this... this isn't the worst way...

...

...

...

            I can feel the weight of my body return slowly, and I realize that I'm lying in a bed. It's not a bed at home, something that gives you a certain peace of mind; neither is it an uncomfortable bed, something that you would only use if you had to. It seems to me a very neutral bed, something prepared for a guest. The sheets are excessively clean as if they'd just been washed, starched, and ironed. I can also feel several things that are stuck to my skin as well. Almost as if...

            But before that, something feels off. Incredibly off. So far off  that I don't even feel like myself. I can tell before I open my eyes that it's very bright and warm, and it makes me squint slightly before I've had a chance to see. I slowly open my eyes to a white ceiling and a fan. There's a window to my left letting in the mid-morning sun. There's some strange equipment and another bed to my right, a door with a small window, and a sink on the wall that my feet are pointing towards. The sheets have been tucked all the way up to my shoulders, which is certainly not something I would do myself. I also feel a thin bandage wrapped around my head.

            I pull off the sheets, but before they even fall back down, I feel the blood drain from my head. Something is definitely not right. My skin... my skin is so pale! Not like the tan from being out in the sun or the sanguine of someone in good health, but... I have a skin tone akin to someone from the mountains. What's more, my skin has suddenly become smooth, as if I had regained my former youth. And.... oh lord, I don't even think I'm a woman anymore, as I can see a distinct absence on my chest and an incredibly noticeable presence where something shouldn't be! This is... what is happening?

            I remove the things on my skin and try to run to the mirror above the sink, but my legs are working as well as if I had never walked before, and I almost completely collapse to the floor, barely hanging onto the sheets to save my head from hitting the floor. I struggle to stand like a newborn, clinging to the bed all the while. Why, if I look so young, do my legs not even work? Tch, so much for the glory of regaining my youth. Eventually, I'm on my feet, and I stagger over to the sink with the help of the bed frame. I see my reflection, and that's when I realize how exactly far off I really am. I'm not even the same person; everything about me is different. I've never even seen this face before...

Reviews

[W. R. Croatt]

Hey, I wasn't able to read the whole thing before I had to go. I'll have to come back to it later. But I have one suggestion that I think the work would really benefit from. What I'm currently writing is set in the 1950s. Since it's a play, I had to do research on how people spoke then, so I could imitate it in the draft. One of my characters, Silvia, has a way of talking that is loosely based on how Audrey Hepburn spoke. She was a bit proper, but she was not arrogant. In fact, she was the exact opposite. She was about as humble as a person could get, and was kind, understanding. This narrator reminds me both of Hepburn and Silvia. Now, this narrator grew up around the forties, but I wouldn't imagine that it would be too much different from the fifties. So, considering that the narrator learned to speak around Hepburn's time, I would highly suggest looking up speeches by Hepburn. I think that this narrator absolutely fits her speech. And the thing is, if you used speech like hers, it would add such a rich tone that it would add not only feeling to the novel, but emotion and depth. Hope this helps a bit!

[Lydia J]

While I do enjoy how you seem to be able to end every chapter (or prologue) in a way that makes me feel the need to read the next chapter, I have to say it was a little slow for me. I'm not in anyway an expert on writing but I have a relatively long attention span and I had a bit of hard time keeping reading. I do generally read things that move a lot more fast paced but even with the slower pace I still overall really enjoyed it.

[richieb]

You certainly have my attention. Very balanced build up throughout the story. Good descriptions of main character and her background. Easy flow leading to the changes in the woman's life. Nothing is rushed in your story. Good pace to learn of extreme changes taking place when the women regains her senses. The reader is now captivated and willingly must read on to satisfy their curiosity.

[Kuro]

The story moves at a sedate pace. It's quite well done. I want to point out that you have chosen to write about a topic which some may not give much attention towards, which is the elderly. The quality of your writing shows through as it manages to keep the reader interested despite the choice of character. Mature writing, really. I wish I could give some constructive feedback that could improve your craft but nothing is coming to mind at the moment. I look forward to reading more of this story.

[Krizito]

Your style is kind off to me - not in a bad way, but in a I'm-not-used-to-this-way.. At a point it feels like the author's just 'telling' and then it grows and becomes pretty like-able.
Your character seems possessive of humor-something I adore- and is created to be quite a likable.
To summarize all I'm struggling to say; I like your character, love the setting you create but the plot & style, still deciding on it.