Aftermath by Valhalla
Summary:

 

Aftermath (noun)

1. the consequences or after-effects of a significant unpleasant event.

2. new grass growing after mowing or havest.

The (very) short story of Ephraim and Helen. 

 


Categories: Original Fiction Characters: None
Classification: None
Genre: Drama, Family, Friendship, Romance
Story Status: Active
Pairings: None
Warnings: Character Death, Original Characters, Un-betaed , Work in Progress
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 2 Completed: Yes Word count: 3412 Read: 3076 Published: May 29 2019 Updated: June 24 2019
Story Notes:

It's been forever and a day since I last wrote anything and to be entirely honest, this story is not new either. I never posted it though. It was to be part of my (now deleted) Forces series with Memorae and Gravity. 

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

1. 1. Helen by Valhalla

2. Ephraim by Valhalla

1. Helen by Valhalla
Author's Notes:

Hoping that finding and editing this story will bring back poor Museworth Musington to life!

"...It was like that when we first met twelve years ago.

It was Oliver’s nineteenth birthday party at Bar Nuevo. I remember that because that’s the type of place someone like me would never usually be found. I can’t quite remember why I agreed to go. Maybe because Oliver is my long suffering popular friend and I didn’t want to always be that awkward childhood friend that didn’t know how to have fun.

The first thing I noticed about her was her dirty laugh. I could see her from my peripheral vision as I struggled to say something, anything to the bored and uncomfortable person that had the misfortune of sitting next to me. Some overly tanned and waxed guy was whispering something into her ear and the sound of her throaty, dirty laugh suddenly filled the swelteringly hot leather cocoon we were occupying in the VIP area. 

I didn’t really think much of it until I heard her laughing again. This time she was much closer to me as she was now joking with Oliver, and I know I felt envious of the fact they were such natural friends. I remember exactly what she was wearing; she wore a short yellow dress and one of those oversized suit jackets. She later told me it was called a boyfriend jacket. I remember it so well because I found myself incapable of tearing my eyes away from her. She held a colourful cocktail in one hand and gesticulated wildly as she spoke. Her face took on every expression under the sun when she spoke. Something about her seemed so polished, so established, but so lively at the same time. I didn’t know how she did it; she was my age, a first year student at university, going through similar experiences as me, and yet…she made it all look so easy. 

I must have been staring transfixed at her for a while because I was completely taken aback when she suddenly called my name. 

Ephraim!

I love the way she said my name. 

I still laugh remembering it: she had heard my name from Oliver before, and, for some reason was excited about meeting me. It turns out she had amused herself with the idea that I was some Pilgrim-Orthodox Jewish cross because my name is so old fashioned.


I’ve never been quick with my responses, or particularly witty, but, I remember saying, “Much to my grandmother’s disappointment, I’m about as Jewish as a bacon sandwich!” She roared with laughter. I’d never been so pleased to make anybody laugh before. It sort of became my mission in life at that moment; to walk beside her forever and hear that laugh."


A series of soft, polite coughs and chortles, started at the back of the church and then spread forward randomly like some psycological contagion. 

“I could stand here and tell you about Helen’s favourite colour, her favourite food, her favourite film and actor. I could talk about her youth, her beauty, her intelligence and kindness. I could tell you that she loved Argentine Malbec and hated Merlot, loved watching cookery shows but hated cooking. 

I’ll even tell you that her favourite scent is the smell just before the aftermath, if you didn’t already know. 

It was during our usual lazy Sunday lie-in when I found out. It must have been around midday because the Sun was high in the sky and we had opened the window for a breeze. Our next door neighbour was mowing his lawn with this fancy new juggernaut he had recently bought. 

Helen got out of bed, sat on the window sill and watched him finishing his task. She explained to me that contrary to what most people believe, an aftermath is not just the result of a profoundly unpleasant event; it’s also the second growth that follows cut grass. That sharp, pungent scent of freshly mown grass heralded the aftermath.

These are all impersonal facts about Helen you may already know; facts that have already been shared today; facts that she may have told you herself; facts that don’t speak about my relationship with her. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to adequately tell you what she meant to me in every way. 

You see, everything about Helen filled my existence from the very first moment that we met twelve years ago. 

It was probably down to the fact that she was always so assured in whatever she did. As for me, I’ve always been far too aware of my surroundings to the point that it makes me a very awkward person. Simple things, like walking, are often more difficult than they need to be.

Right leg, left arm.

Left leg, right arm.

Bend. Flex. Don’t trip. Bend. Flex. Relax the face. Repeat.

The swing of my head, where I’m supposed to keep my gaze, the inclination of my body, the movement of my gait; I always felt a compulsive need to think about these things whenever I dared to walk. I often wondered how everybody else felt: was I the only one feeling this discomfort? Was I the only one too aware of myself? Was I paranoid for feeling everyone’s judging eyes on me? Maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe I just didn’t know how to walk.

Helen made walking look so simple. She walked as if it was nothing to her. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The way she glided rather than clopped down the street even when she wore impossibly high heels, the way her thigh muscles rode up her leg whenever she flexed, the way her calf muscles sat high and taut bellow the back of her knees, and her confident posture and the swing of her hips. 

Right. Left.

Right. Left. 

It was all completely natural and utterly mesmerising.

I loved it when she weaved slightly and occasionally bumped against my arm, and then looped her hand through the bend in my elbow. I loved the warmth of her chest pressing against my forearm and the way she pulled me down to whisper some random observation about the people walking in front of us. I loved that she didn’t wear perfume and all I could smell was her. I loved the way the soft, tightly coiled puff of hair she tied high on her head tickled the side of my neck when she rested her face against my shoulder. I had no choice but to fall in step and walk as if I always knew how to do it.

Every day she fascinated me.

Her composure was contagious. All of those walking woes that had plagued me from the day I took my first step disappeared when I walked beside Helen, because all I could think about was her. Even when I tried not to, it was as if my mind insisted that she become the centre of my universe.

Without any effort, Helen could leave her mark on something as simple as walking. That’s what she meant to me. That’s what she will always mean to me.” 

Ephraim stepped down from the pulpit and walked a little further forward. His assured footsteps echoed loudly in the large, chilly hall. Helen looked beautiful and serene in her white dress. 


With blurry vision, he gently caressed her cold fingers resting against her abdomen, wishing in vain, as he did so, that she would open her eyes, get up and walk with him.



End Notes:

Where does one go from here???

Ephraim by Valhalla
Author's Notes:

Ah! Love and loss is so bitter sweet. Feelings are so complicated! Good and bad, sweet and sour mixing together. 

We get Helen's perspective of that nigth and her feelings for Ephraim.

Helen gently caressed the thick dark blond curls falling softly on the side of her bed with her left hand. He’d fallen asleep sitting next to her, head propped on his arms, holding firmly to her right arm.

 

A small smile tugged at the corner of her dry lips as she wondered what he was dreaming about.

 

He had always elicited curiosity in her, even before they met.

 

Oliver and his group of friends always mentioned this boy, Ephraim. Someone they had known since childhood but rarely frequented the parties they held. Whoever he was, Helen was intrigued. His presence, though missing from her life, seemed to loom large and confident. A young man with an old soul and an old man’s name!

 

“Ephraim’s not coming; he said he has research to do in the library.”

 

“Eph’s on a trip to some climate conference with his faculty in Geneva.”

 

“Ephraim? He’s fixing my dad’s old radio. My old man can’t bear to buy a new one!”

 

“Ephraim won an award for his paper and is at the award dinner in the city.”

 

“Ephraim? Yeah, he’s coming to my party this weekend. Why? Are you interested?” 

 

Despite Oliver’s quip, Helen was interested. 

 

He sat quietly in the corner of the VIP area, music blaring around him, face impassive and slightly bemused by the spectacle of it all. She was surprised by his looks; boyish and charming face, thick dark blond hair falling around his eyes, thick framed glasses and tall and slim build. Undoubtedly the epitome of handsome geek. Unlike the expensively and fashionably dressed crowd around him, he simply wore navy chinos and a button down white chambray shirt open at the collar. 

 

It was his eyes that first caught her attention. A dark shade of blue peering out into the throng of people at Oliver’s birthday party. When she cracked the joke about his name, his arresting gaze fixed on her face and the first word she thought was deep. She had heard from her mother and her aunt’s about people with deep and long vision. Old souls that saw the before, the present and what was to come. It was a crazy thought that lasted a split second before disappearing; she hoped he saw a future with her.

 

Next it was his mouth; wide slim lips stretched to a polite smile. Later he confessed to his nerves at her approach but she saw nothing of that in the way he responded to her jest with his surprisingly deep and affable voice.

 

She’d spent the rest of that evening uncharacteristically unlike herself. Instead of busily working the crowd and embodying her usual confident and extroverted persona, she remained glued to his side asking any silly question that came to her mind. Just to hear his voice and feel his gaze fixed on her face. 

 

She had been determined to get his number by the end of the night. 

 

Getting to know each other over the following months did not quell her curiosity. Every day with Ephraim felt like a lesson in living in the moment. He would send her random pictures of things that piqued his interest throughout the day - flowers, beetles, a child blowing bubbles in the park, an artistic image of a train blurring through the London Underground. 

 

Despite being a shy and introverted person in social settings, she saw him come alive in academia. He did not advertise himself with words or attire, but whenever his long stride entered a room, she found herself drawn towards him. Seeking out the notice and approval of that deep gaze. Wanting to know she was part of his hidden thoughts. He was shy and cordial in a social settings but when he stood on a podium to discuss his subject and areas of interest before his faculty or a conference, his assured baritone rang around the room. Authoritative and  concise. He did not waste words. His gaze would sweep across the room and whenever it landed on her watching him at the back, a small smile would tug at the corner of his lips and send her heart skipping and swelling with pride at his achievements. Student, doctor, youngest faculty professor and eventually one of Europe’s foremost experts in Climate Change and Environmental Analysis.

 

Helen always saw her extroversion as a strength – confident and chatty, a people person. She was known as the one that had it together. Perhaps she did at various points but it was Ephraim that always grounded her. Ephraim that was her anchor, that allowed her to stride confidently, safe in the knowledge that he was by her side no matter what.

 

Ephraim’s effect on her was always quiet and profound but reassuring and comforting. She knew that she did not always need to be on for him. She could just be his Helen.

 

When she walked, he would adjust his steps to be in time with her, reducing his long stride to match her pace. When she spoke, his attention was fully on her, unwavering dark blue gaze on her face, watching her lips move as she spoke. It was as if he could see right through her and into her soul. Helen was never one to be shy but she felt the creep of a blush starting at the base of her neck stretching into her scalp at his look. He made her feel breathless.

 

Ephraim always came across so measured and precise in his actions. Even when pursuing her. When he finally took the bait she had been throwing for six months since their first introduction, he had cleared his schedule for the whole day and said to her, “I would be honoured if you would accompany me for some activities today…alone.” A red hot blush bloomed on his face when he heard the double meaning behind his words and the sound of her throaty and delighted laughter.

 

Eighteen months later, he formally requested her hand in marriage from her mother. 

 

Their wedding was the happiest and most emotional day of their lives.

 

She was spoiled and she knew this. Spoiled in every way – emotionally, financially, physically. Ephraim was a kind and considerate friend, a sensitive and conscientious lover and wise and generous confidant. 

 

Helen paused from her nostalgia and looked at the gold band on her finger, still secure on her dry and withered finger. A bitter feeling rose and soured in her throat. She coughed abruptly and Ephraim instantly woke up, rising groggily from his uncomfortable position on the side of the bed.

 

“Helen? How long have you been awake.” He looked at the window and saw the creeping light outside. “ Why didn’t you wake me up?” There was slight frustration in his voice. That sour feeling spilled out of her eyes and a look of shock and horror swept over his face. “ Helen? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t cry. It’s just that…I don’t want to miss any…” His voice trailed off as he frantically wiped at her tears and tried to soothe her.

 

Helen tried to force a smile and bit her quivering lips but the tears would not stop. “I know…I’m just so…jealous and bitter, Ephraim. I’m so jealous!”

 

He felt his heart constrict. Ephraim climbed onto the bed and drew her into his arms. A solid lump forming in his throat.

 

“I’m so upset that I won’t get to see you soar and achieve even more-“

 

“Helen…” his voice broke, the rising emotion threatening to choke him.

 

“T-that I won’t be by your side. T-that I won’t have your children…” His tears began to flow and his hold around her tightened.

 

“There’s still a chance…” He could not finish the words. Their chances came and went and her days were numbered.

 

They sat in sombre silence in each other’s arms. She was seized by a sudden onslaught of coughing and finally calmed down to the soothing caressing of his hand on her back. He quietly watched the glint of the gold wedding band on his finger shining as he moved his hand up and down her spine. He could not see anything else in his hot and blurry vision.

 

“I’m sorry.” She finally softly said. “For leaving you with this grief.”

 

“Don’t ever apologise for being with me and creating the happiest memories of my life, Helen.” His voice was thick and cracked with emotion.

 

“Ephraim.”

 

“Yes, my love.”

 

“When I’m gone,” his grip tightened, “when I’m gone, there will be a tomorrow. You have the most brilliant mind and beautiful heart of anyone I’ve ever known. When the time comes, you must allow yourself to share that again.” The words tasted like ash in her mouth. Empty and bitter words she ought to say but only half felt. She could not truly feel that magnanimous. She wanted nothing more than to be that person for him forever, but Fate was a cruel mistress and the price of her unbridled happiness for twelve years was its painfully short duration. 

 

He said nothing. He could not. The words died in his throat. Ten minutes later, her mother arrived and diffused the atmosphere. They did not broach the subject again and she was gone four days later. 

 

 

Three years later.

 

The weather was unseasonably warm in springtime London over the past week. Every day was graced by blue skies, with the odd tufts of fluffy white clouds wispily floating high in the sky. Ephraim weaved his way between the tables basking in the sunshine outside of Helen’s favourite bistro.

 

Marta was in the corner facing out onto the park and the streams of people sunbathing or leisurely milling about the paths.

 

She looked so much like Helen – skin like espresso, dark expressive eyes, high cheekbones and full lips. Around the corners of her eyes were the tell-tale signs of age and laughter.

 

As if sensing his approach, she turned and greeted him with a delighted smile and outstretched arms. “Ephraim! It’s so good to see you, my dear.” She cooed in a heavy accent, blessing his cheeks with kisses.

 

“Mum, it’s good to see you too.” He breathed. He felt a slight sense of relief then, enveloped in the scent of her perfume and her familiar throaty laughter. From the moment he and Helen got engaged, she was mum. And even after Helen was buried, she knew he still needed mum.

 

They ordered coffees and settled into their usual routine of life updates and subtle and warm references to Helen.

 

Ephraim played with the fingers of his left hand, unconsciously and gently rubbing his now empty ring finger. It had been 3 days since he removed it. For good but not for good. For he knew that there would be days and storms that would send him rushing to his bedside drawer to fish out the ring to anchor him back from the overwhelming emotions. He’d seen the look in his friends’ eyes, firstly sympathy then eventually pity. Their eyes seemed to tell him, “It’s been three years…” The unspoken meaning hanging in the air.

 

What two years or twenty years? She would always be his Helen. On this point, Ephraim was stubborn and immovable.

 

He had known her for twelve years. Loved her for eleven and a half and married her for nine. It was supposed to be a lifetime, that was the promise. Just because one could not fulfil that promise did not mean he would not love her for the rest of his life.

 

A faint buzz sounded in the distance. Ephraim looked out onto the park, squinting behind his thick framed glasses. A large mower operated by a park warden appeared from beyond the thicket, marking its path steadily in neat streams of trimmed grass.

 

A sharp and tangy scent wafted over with the monotone buzz. The aftermath.

 

He caught Marta’s gaze on his hand, noting the pale band of skin where the ring had been. She looked relieved.

 

“There’s someone.” He said softly, catching the interested sparkle in Marta’s eyes. Her smile widened. “She’s here on a long term climate change research trip for her PhD. A student from Tanzania.”

 

Marta chuckled jovially, “Ephraim, you very much embody the phrase – once you go black, you never go back!”

 

A red hot blush bloomed from Ephraim’s neck, over his face and up to his ears. Marta reached over and affectionately squeezed his hand. 

 

“Helen would like her.” He softly said, looking down bashfully.

 

“And what about Ephraim? Does Ephraim like her?”

 

 

Ephraim met her gaze and smiled warmly. 

End Notes:

I'm happy that they had each other. Even for a short time. I will post the other two short stories in the Forces series. All about snapshots in life and love.

 

Thank you for reading. I hope you felt something. Even if it wasn't enjoyment! :P

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