Authors: Christal M. Mosley
Tags: #suspense, #spirituality, #supernatural, #visions, #past life, #otherwordly, #surreality
Empyreal: Awaken - Book One
Christal M. Mosley
Copyright Christal M. Mosley
Published by WheelMan Press at
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Tripp, my son, you are my
For I know the plans I
have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you and not to
harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Coralie remained still, silently in the night,
her eyes closed tight. She could hear them. She knew that it
wouldn't be long. She began to tense as she could hear them
nearing. She struck out against the night air, feeling it rush
against her. She was running now ... running fast ... faster and
They won't get away ... faster, run
Coralie told herself. Faster, run
Trees, shrubs, street lamps, houses,
buildings, park cars...all just a background of fading darkness in
her peripheral view, combining into one long, dark blur.
There they are ... up ahead ...
she said to herself. Tunnel vision had seemed to take her over, so
that all she could see was
Closer and closer, she approached
but she continued to push herself to run even faster,
with each step and stride.
I'm getting closer ...
thought, as she began to feel herself tense as she prepared to meet
her fleeing opponents. She felt a rush of tension, like a predator
zoning in and closing on its prey, ready to pounce.
The hunt is
almost over, and the 'kill' will be quick ...
feeling her muscles tense predatorily.
Either her opponents had begun to slow
or she was gaining ground. Probably the latter.
to a halt & turned ... but Coralie had leapt into the air,
stood. Coralie gave a
stunning jab with her extended arm that was stretched out beyond
her body. The one she struck first, stumbled back a few spaces, and
then began to advance on her. Coralie leapt into the air once more,
this time landing her outstretched heel into the chest of her
Stumbling backward, her challenger
fell to the ground, hard, but not hard enough. The staggering body
returned to its feet and began its advancement upon the
Coralie heard movement now from the
east and west of her.
Three ... there are three ... great
she said to herself. She crouched into a defensive stance,
and awaited her advancers. She jumped into the air, coming down
onto two of them with a crushing blow, causing them to tumble to
the ground. She stood, quickly, throwing a jab into the side of the
other, knocking their body into a tree. Commencing in a firm stance
and planting her feet solidly on the ground, she beckoned their
return to joining her fight. They began their unsteadily stagger
back towards her. Coralie grinned confidently.
Without hesitance, instinctively,
Coralie threw a stunning punch into the gut of the one on that came
at her from her left. She tensed again, throwing a jabbing left
punch into the side of the one approaching her from the right. As
the two fell against the hard ground, the third advanced on her
quickly, slugging towards her. Coralie ducked swiftly, dodging a
blow. She jumped speedily to her feet, delivering a reciprocating
knock backwards, causing her rival to slam hard against a tree
trunk and fall even harder to the ground.
Coralie looked at the pounded heaps
that lie on the ground. She perused her surroundings, taking
inventory of those who took occupancy on the leaf covered ground
around her. One of them started to move, as the others lay
Slowly walking toward their pummeled
bodies, Coralie reached behind her back retrieving her weapon of
choice, her ancient Makhaira sword. She could feel its power
exuding as she held it tight within her hands.
Coralie felt the tension in her
muscles begin to relax. She looked down at them, as the powering
glow of her sword illuminated her face in the dark. With the
radiance that surrounded them, she could see the look of blatant
fear on the face of her wakeful foe. Holding her sword high above
her, pointing downward, she flashed an angelic, conquering
Coralie opened her eyes to a slight peek of
daylight, peering through her window. She gently rubbed the
sleepiness from her eyes, quietly rolled out of bed, and walked
over to her window, from which the light came.
The street lamps were still on and the
sky was just beginning to show signs of daylight's return. The
peeking rays were giving off just enough light to illumine the
difference between the street and the moisture that lay atop its
How beautiful, she thought to herself,
wondering how many others never get to see the beauty that is
daybreak. Just then, tugging her from her own thoughts was a dark
movement, a figure. The figure was wearing dark clothing and dark
shoes, with one garment that seemed to be a hooded sweatshirt,
hovering over their face.
Even though she was watching from her
bedroom window, Coralie felt her chest tighten with familiar
The figure neared her house, walking
in a hurried pace, and began to bound up her front steps. The
figure jumped onto the top step of her front porch and paused to
shrug the hooded sweatshirt from their head.
she sighed, relaxing
the tightness at the sight of her father, Cal Collier.
She made her way downstairs, quietly
descending them one by one. As she rounded the corner to the
kitchen, she could hear her father rummaging through the
refrigerator. She paused at the door, before entering the kitchen
door, just long enough to pull her dark golden, chin-length hair
into a short sprig of a ponytail.
“Mom's leftover spaghetti, second
shelf,” Coralie said, as she entered the kitchen.
Startled, he looked up, but quickly
relaxed after recognizing the voice that had spoken was his
daughter's. “Hey, Honey! Thanks...” he said as he pulled the
container from the refrigerator.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Coralie said, looking at her father as she watched him spoon out
heaps of spaghetti onto a plate.
“I could ask you the same thing ...
couldn't I?” he countered, with a playful raised eyebrow, and
handed her a plate of cold spaghetti.
“Thanks,” she said taking the plate,
“but I asked you first ... What you are doing up at the crack of
“You first...” he mumbled, trying not
to smile through his bite of spaghetti, motioning that he couldn't
talk with a 'mouthful'. Swallowing, he added, “Don't you have some
rule about Saturdays and before the sun rises,” then quickly
crammed in another mouthful.
“No movement until the sun's been
shining for at least four hours...” Coralie said with a smirk,
taking her first bite.
“Right – I thought it was it something
like that...” Cal playfully nodded.
“Don't alert the press just yet, the
rule is still in effect until further notice, but, ... I've been
having these dreams...”
“Yeah ... like these weird, strangely
Something in her tone intrigued Cal.
“What kind of 'weird' dreams?” he asked, leaning in towards the
“It's nothing Dad, it's stupid, it's
nothing ... really...”
Coralie looked up to find her father,
who was standing directly across from her, armed with a
fork-stabbed meatball. “I'm not afraid to use this...” he said
playfully stern, with his most concentrated look.
“Okay, okay ... meatball assassin...”
Coralie started, jokingly. “These dreams ... I don't know ...
they're all the same, but somehow all different ... I know that I'm
talking in circles, but...”
“Come on, Cor ... What? Humor your old
man...” Cal pressed.
She sighed, fearing how her words
might sound to someone else's ears. But this wasn't just anyone,
she had to remind herself. This was her father.
“They're all in first person, my
dreams ... I see and feel everything ... every little bit of action
that happens, I'm a part of it...”
“Action, you say? What kind of ...
action?” he asked, interested in her continuance.
“Like fighting action ... I'm talking
about chase scenes, fight scenes ... where I'm kicking some serious
tail...” Coralie broke off, only to press forward upon cue of her
father's questioning eyes. “But I always wake up feeling like there
is something that I need to finish, like there's more of the fight
left, like it's still out there somewhere ... or, I don’t know ...
like I'm missing some pieces to a puzzle...,” and with that, she
allowed her words to trail off.
“Coralie –” Cal started, but was
“See, I told you it was stupid ... I
know ... I guess I really need to stop watching those silly
superhero movies before I go to bed, huh?” she rambled.
“Coralie, honey, your dreams ...
they're not stupid or silly ... tell me something ... how long have
you been having these ... dreams?” Cal questioned his
“A few weeks ... maybe more ... It's
just that they're so real, you know...like I'm witnessing
everything first hand, like it's me who is experiencing the
“Good Morning, Troops! I assume my
memo about the early dawn meeting got lost by the carrier –
thankfully,” Coralie's mother, Katelyn, said jokingly, entering the
Katelyn began to make her way to the
coffee pot, stopping on her way to kiss each of them on the
forehead – bending over to Coralie, who was planted in a stool,
then walking to the opposite side of the island to Cal, lifting
onto her tippy-toes to reach him. “Do I need to consult the meeting
minutes or can you guys just fill me in? What did I miss? Is
“Everything's fine...” Coralie said,
not wanting to bother her mother with such on a day like this
“Coralie's having ... dreams...” Cal
provided the answer that Coralie refused to give. In response,
Coralie looked dumbfounded by this, not expecting her father to
give her secrets up so easily. Not that she minded
“Dreams?” Katelyn asked, giving Cal
the questioned look instead of Coralie. Then as she shifted her
focus back to Coralie, she asked, “What kind of dreams, dear?
Scary, disturbing, or just plain silly? You know, like the ones
that make you say 'Hmmm'...”
Coralie snickered lightly at her
mother, who was now sipping her coffee. “Mostly like the latter, I
guess...” she answered, “...some like the others that you
mentioned, though ... they're all pretty much the same in scenario,
just different scenes.”
“Do you have these ... experiences – I
mean, dreams, every night?” Katelyn asked her daughter.