Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Posts

Frost Begins on the Lawn

By

Martyn

What I’m seeking here is the usual critique, plus a close look at how the two distinct voicings work. The idea is that Ayanda’s chapters are slow and leisurely to convey thoughtful academia, while Johnso’s chapters are faster to match the sense of impending doom.

Chapter 1

Professor Ayanda Nkosi would not have wanted the end of the world to be woven from the threads of her life’s work any more than she would have wanted it to be braided from the pattern of what she failed to do. She didn’t know it when she rose that Tuesday morning in May, but those would be her only choices.

At ten minutes past four, Ayanda reached out and touched the empty bed next to her. Wincing at the emptiness—both inside and out—she closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the memories to fade. Sipho.

She had woken before the alarm again; just as she did every Tuesday morning in term time. Tuesdays took her away from her work, or at least from what she considered her real work; an inconvenience that was becoming increasingly burdensome as she homed in on her goal.

That morning, her bedroom was cold enough for her breath to condense in the air, but her instinct to pull the covers over her nose gave way to necessity and a lifelong commitment to reliability. Ayanda, deep down in the core of her being, believed in herself, and herself alone. If she couldn’t be dependable, who could? This became even more the case after Sipho died, when a part of her decided that relying on others usually ended badly. So, she put herself on a path. One where every step was calculated, known in advance, and deliberate.

Swinging her legs over the side, she sat on the edge of the bed and did her stretches in the dark, hands to the ceiling, then forward over her knees, then a slow turn of her neck, left and right. There were a dozen more; she worked her way from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes. A daily routine since a visit to her physio in Rondebosch some years ago, Ayanda saw it as a bit of a Canute exercise, but one that slowed the tide of age, even if it couldn’t stop it.

By Martyn Winters

Part 1 – Frost Begins on the Lawn

Chapter 1

At ten minutes past four on Tuesday morning, Ayanda Nkosi reached out and touched the empty bed next to her, closed her eyes for a moment and let the memories fade. She had woken before her alarm again. This was her routine every Tuesday in term time, one she kept to unwaveringly, but lately it had become increasingly burdensome. Her bedroom was cold enough for her breath to condense in the air, but her instinct to pull the covers over her nose gave way to necessity and a lifelong commitment to being reliable. Ayanda, deep down in the core of her being, believed in herself, and herself alone. This became especially true after Sipho died, when some small part of her decided that relying on others always ended badly. So, she set herself on a path where every step was planned, known in advance, and calculated.

She sat on the edge of the bed and did her stretches in the dark, hands to the ceiling, then forward over her knees, then a slow turn of her neck, left and right; exercises she had performed every morning since her physio had prescribed them to her in 2019.

“One degree stiffer per year,” she said to the dark room. She sighed and did one more stretch. “It feels like a law of nature, old girl.”