FICTION Amidst Apples and Thyme by Katherine Mitula Amidst apples and thyme, I look into the past and I remember. I remember happier times, times that made me laugh and dance and smile with joy. I remember the times of grief, of fear, of pain, which fill my heart with darkness. Times that truly made me understand what it is to feel alive. I kneel at the foot of the grave, and let my mind be consumed. There was once a boy. A man, he must be, now. A man with his life ahead of him and a future of all he could dream of. He was sickly, weak. His father came to me for help, for I was the foremost healer in the big city. I could have refused, for even then, I was not as young as I once was, and my back ached fiercely, as if it was reminding me of my old age. I had retired from practicing three years before; I had no obligation to respond to any pleas for medical assistance anymore. But the desperation in the man’s eyes convinced me, and I agreed to help him. Now the boy is a renowned architect with a sweetheart he loves more than life itself. How strange it is that our actions and choice can have such an impact on the world. If not for my healing of him, he would never have survived to adulthood to realise his calling and follow his dreams. The world would be lacking half the memorable buildings which now litter the earth, proud and unyielding, a symbol of international unity. I sit on the ground and dream of flying. I have never flown before, and I don’t think I ever will. Flight is for those of the future; I belong with the past, and the horse-carriages and steam-boats which carried us from one destination to the next. It was by boat that I was brought to the land in which I dwell now, the land which I choose to call home. If I had been carried by the air it would have taken mere hours; as it was, it took months. Months of tedium and endless ocean, my mind enduring only with the knowledge of the end of the journey, the bright land to which I sailed with its promise of safety and a new beginning. Beside me stood my husband, my dear husband who endured so much in the motherland and chose to be by my side as I undertook this final, life-altering journey into the unknown. I left my homeland behind me knowing that I would never see my parents or sisters or brothers again in this lifetime. I have no regrets, for there I have lived peacefully and happily with my husband and my children, who I value with my life. From the occasional letter, I knew that my parents and siblings yet lived, and that was enough for me. I had my own life to lead, and though they would always be in my heart I could not let myself crumble with fear or worry for them, not when I must be strong for my children. Now, my husband is dead, taken from me by the ravages of consumption. I sit by his grave, and ponder. Was it his fate, to end this way? Was it what God meant for him? I do not think I’ll ever know. All I know is that there is a hole in my heart that was not there before, and if it weren’t for my children I would feel well and truly alone. I sit by my husband’s grave, and dream that he is there beside me, smiling at me and holding out his hand. I reach out and take it, and feel the life-giving warmth of it. Together we stand, and walk, away from the apples and the scent of thyme which still lingers in my nostrils, and away from the tombstone of death. I close my eyes as the brilliant light tenderly envelops me, and smile. 58 | Lot’s <strong>Wife</strong>
CREATIVE JK Dress-up by Jemma Cakebread Lot’s <strong>Wife</strong> | 59
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