Gerard F. Kennedy Writer

novel / 2011

Sarah’s Purple Sky



The moon casts a pubescent light over the garden.  The garden is a happy place.  A fox, staring at its own refection, is disturbed by a cub’s frolicking.   Both are unaware of their audience.  Both perform on the stage of middle night.  They provide solace for the shadowed mind.  The fox looks at its reflection again.   Behind the glass there is another world; a different night.  Sarah is watching.  She is wrapped in her favourite blanket, cuddled up in the armchair that faces the glass wall of the conservatory.  The glass wall separates the inner and the outer; a transparent skin.

As a little girl Sarah wanted the future so much, because that was where happiness would be found.  She still has a future, maybe, but at this moment it does not exist.  All that she has right now is her memory and the stage of middle night.





Sarah sits often sits here.  Sometimes she thinks she can feel a presence but maybe it’s her self-consciousness being nostalgic; we can never be sure and it doesn’t really matter that much.  Although the physical body withers, the spiritual being survives and sometimes lingers.

She feels warm, secure and comforted. She’s come a long way; but can’t help looking back.  Sometimes confusion and fear get the better of her.  It is never easy to tell whether things could have been handled differently or better.  Sarah is still on her journey; trying to find a safer path and better directions.

We’re not given a map when we set out on our journey.  We have to learn to be the cartographers of our own lives; that is the scary part.  Fortunately, most of the time, we are unaware that we are mapping our own journey.  By the time that we become knowledgeable and wise we have to start preparing for the next part of our journey.  Sarah’s mother is on that part of her journey now; she’s been gone one year.

It was this day, in this space.  Sarah wanted to know what her mother had found and it killed her to tell Sarah; literally.  Numbness still remains; shock can do that to you.  But she hasn’t really gone; her ghost lingers and scrutinises.  Mothers do that; especially on anniversaries.

Every so often Sarah dream that she’s in a hot air balloon.  It is speedily falling to earth until she begins to throw suitcases overboard.  The balloon begins to float upwards again; she begins to feel light-hearted and unburdened.   In real life it isn’t that easy.

At some point in every day a memory pushes its way into her head; but it doesn’t hurt the way it used to.  But when her memory wriggles during the night it is inconvenient.  Then Sarah comes to her cocoon in the conservatory, to watch the play of remembrance.

It’s strange, all these worlds that we’re a part of.  Sarah got sucked into his world.  Now they share.

Eighteen months ago things were quite different.  There were her parents; then Simon; then Michael.  Kate was never far away.  Maybe blood is thicker than water.  Who knows?  Paths cross and sometimes worlds intertwine.

Sarah turned around.   She half expected to see a spirit of the night standing behind her.

“Please Sarah, come back to bed.”

“Sorry, I was in another world.” Sarah whispered.

A warm hand caressed her cheek.  Sarah looked around to make sure that it was his

“Come, come back to our world; I want you beside me.”