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Roy Edwards

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The Hidden
By Roy Edwards   
Rated "PG" by the Author.
Last edited: Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Posted: Wednesday, October 27, 2010

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Sometimes what is hidden reveals itself, sometimes evil cloaks itself in white.

I was asleep and then I was not.
There was a sound like the rustle of an angel’s wing. Moonlight poured in through a corner of my bedroom window, flooding the room in thin, white light. I lay in the shadows, my heart beating fast; the room was empty and I thought I’d simply dreamed the sound. From where I lay I could see through my window; shafts of moonlight flicker shifting through the trees as branch and leaf swayed in the wind. I told myself I wasn’t afraid, I told myself its all in my head. It’s a layered world I thought, we think we know this world in which we live but I don’t think we know much at all. Layers on layers that pass us by but they don’t, they move and shift in the hidden.
They lurch in the deep and the dark reaching out to find us and I thought:-
The past is heaped in layers.
Behind and beneath us merging old pain in dim, bleak memories shot through with an occasional candle glow in the darkness of our ignorance to illuminate the pallid layers in which those who seek to harm us hide so well. The rustle of an angel’s wing, my heart responds to the sound, the wing enfolds me and I am found. The moon moves across the sky the pale, white light drifts on the wall. The trees outside my window stand illumed in silver and the black of the shadow it casts and I thought, the layered past rests uneasy like a Delphic twin reaching out to mirror itself in the living. Sometimes it connects when you least expect it but you don’t know why old memories return to haunt you – you falter you catch your breath and move on. The past is heaped in layers, it is who we are what we become but it does not determine the path we follow – in our heart and in our soul in the wing of an angel in the doom of evil that rewards itself, we choose and determine the path we follow and I thought: Sometimes the past is layered in the hollow, in shades of light and darkness buried in dim memories in vague dreams that haunt and question why.
The subtle hidden intruding in gloomy shadows skittering behind our eyes shifting the midnight to who knows where, reminding the uncertain heart that sometimes worn out ghosts reach out in the deep and the dark of the uneasy layer behind and beneath us. The pallid layer of the hidden who seek to harm us, and I thought:-
I do not fear the deep and the dark, what ghosts I meet pass me by.
I fear those I don’t know who wish to harm me only to realise I have known them all along and in my belated recognition of the hidden I thought: The past is heaped in layers behind and beneath us and sometimes when evil rises up through the layers it cloaks itself in white.
Outside my room wind ruffles the trees. Inside my room the air is cool and still. Moonlight spills through my window pane. The bleached light is thin and waning now, darkness pools in corners and if I lay still and quiet the hours will pass, the sun will rise and in its promise of warmth and light what is broken will heal; but we must ever beware “The Hidden.”

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Books by
Roy Edwards

The Verres Letter

Pierced by the Sun

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B W Harding’s Bar Room Tales

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Distant Voices

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The Outlaw

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The Gunfighter

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