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    The Heart of the Chimera
    The Heart of the Chimera
    The Heart of the Chimera
    Ebook86 pages1 hour

    The Heart of the Chimera

    By Leslie J Linder

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    About this ebook

    "In a future where hearts are borrowed and truths are hidden, one woman's journey will redefine what it means to truly live."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLeslie J Linder
    Release dateMar 30, 2025
    ISBN9798230972273
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    Author

    Leslie J Linder

    Leslie Joan Linder is an accomplished author based in Downeast Maine. Her non-fiction work has been featured in prominent Neo-pagan magazines such as SageWoman, Circle Sanctuary, and Witches & Pagans. With a flair for horror and science fiction, Leslie explores these genres in her fiction writing. Her poetry has appeared in various journals, zines, and anthologies, including Forage Poetry, Wicked Banshee, IMMIX, and Rat's Ass Review. She has been a regular columnist for SageWoman Magazine and has contributed reviews and blogs to Witches & Pagans and Circle Sanctuary Magazines. Her horror novel, "Revenant: Blood Justice," was published by Black Rose Writing in May 2017. Her feminist witchcraft book, "Spinstress Craft," was published by Llewellyn Worldwide in 2021. Her horror and paranormal short stories have been published by several literary magazines and indie anthologies, such as those of Grinning Skull Press.  Leslie has been a dedicated domestic violence prevention professional since 2001, working with women and girls particularly on relationship issues. She integrates her experiences with spirituality and magick into her work, having taken two degrees of initiation from the Cabot Kent Hermetic Temple and being ordained through a three-year Priestess Training program at the Temple of the Feminine Divine in Bangor, Maine. Her full credits and contact information can be found at lesliejlinder.com.  

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      Book preview

      The Heart of the Chimera - Leslie J Linder

      —A Thanksgiving Fugue

      The first time Lianna had the dreams, she woke up crying. Slowly, the weeks of repetition had begun to harden her. But this stuff never allowed for a good night’s sleep.

      She was dreaming now. That’s what she told herself. She tried to calm her racing heart. She willed the sorrow and terror to leave her mind. But this wasn’t her first rodeo. She had to ride it out.

      She was trapped. She couldn’t move. The left side of her body was numb from being pressed against the dirty ground for how long? It felt like an eternity.

      Metal bars as thick as her wrists pinned her down from all sides. It was like wearing some external corset. Like a medieval iron maiden, she thought.

      She wanted so desperately to move. Even to shift a few inches would be a heavenly relief. But the steel bars weren’t the only impediment, at this stage.

      She had no hope. Why bother to try and move? It barely worked, and never helped. Her soul felt as heavy as stone.

      Lianna coughed out a few dry, tear-less sobs. She desperately wanted to cry. Really, she wanted to scream. She couldn’t do either. She was reduced to nothing but pain.

      She figured that this must be worse even than death. The fly pinned down to the entomologists’ display no longer felt this hellish despair.

      She had to move—just a few inches. Fight!

      At this point, Lianna burst upright in her bed, flailing against the cotton sheets. She’d known it had been a dream. Mostly.

      She put a flat palm on her chest as if trying to comfort a child. Her heart was still pounding. That was never a good thing. She’d been as fit as a distance runner for over a decade, but it was still scary. To say she’d been a sickly child would be a massive understatement.

      When she got up, she crossed to the full-length mirror that was leaning next to the dresser at a slightly crooked angle. The thing was too heavy to be mounted on their cheap plaster walls. But it was part of her routine.

      Every morning, she felt a compulsion to look in this mirror. Her mother used to call it the ten fingers, ten toes test because it wasn’t much more technical. Part of Lianna just had to confirm that she was still in one piece. Especially once the dreams had started.

      She looked herself up and down. A little flushed. A little sweaty. Hair was a total disaster. Overall, no big deal.

      Now for the most important part. She pulled up her tee shirt with a tentative, almost trembling hand. It went over her navel and then cleared her breasts. She strained to look over her arm and use the mirror to examine her chest.

      The transplant scar was right where she’d left it right between her breasts. It was about eight inches long, but it faded every year. It looked harmless enough. No redness. No stretching. No sci-fi creature was trying to claw its way out.

      She let the shirt drop back into position and sighed. Ten fingers, ten toes, and one healthy heart. At least, that was what she hoped.

      She walked out into the kitchen thinking she’d pretty much passed the test. But the look on her girlfriend’s face said something different.

      Stella was scraping the pink flesh out of a grapefruit as pungent juice ran off the joint of her thumb. She looked up at Lianna and fired off one of her patented expressions. This one was half amused, half pissed off.

      Good morning, Sunshine, Stella said. You look like crap.

      It’s that obvious? Lianna replied.

      Well, recall that I also get to see you in bed, Stella reminded her. Normally that’s great, but not when you’re crying in your sleep and smacking me in the face.

      Shit, I’m sorry, Lianna said. It’s the same dream.

      She walked up to Stella and raised her girlfriend’s hand. Making an attempt at seduction by way of apology, she softly licked the grapefruit juice off Stella’s thumb and hand. Her lover shivered at the sensation, but her face didn’t tell Lianna that all was forgiven quite yet.

      That’s the way I want to be kept up all night, Stella teased, giving Lianna a soft kiss on the lips. If I need to hear you screaming at midnight, I damned well want to be the one who causes it.

      That sounds fine to me, Lianna said sheepishly. The nightmares aren’t my idea. I mean, I don’t think.

      You have them almost every night now, Stella replied, looking concerned. Do you want to talk about it?

      Lianna sat down at the table. A glance at the flat screen on the wall above the counter told her it was fifty-five degrees out, and sunny. November 23, 2035. And the nightmare feeling that still lingered in her gut seemed to add, same shit, different day.

      She didn’t want to talk about the dream. But she went over it for Stella, anyhow. Maybe a talking cure would help. Her mother certainly swore by that approach.

      It’s the stuff about not being able to move, at all, she said. And it isn’t just physical. It’s the feelings. So much pain, it’s like my whole family just died, or something.

      It sounds horrible, sweetie, Stella said. Maybe it’s a feminist thing. Like, smash the patriarchy? You’ve been dealing with some real jerkos in the freelance scene, and Rob is an utter tool.

      Stella pushed half the grapefruit across the table. Lianna took a spoonful. It was unsweetened and made her pucker her lips.

      You’re sweet enough already, Stella said, interpreting the look.

      Thanks, Lianna said. Still, I don’t think it’s about Rob, or some random editor. It seems way more personal.

      She could see where Stella got her theories. Since Lianna worked as a freelance journalist, she had to deal with all types of bosses. Some of them definitely put the shards in the glass ceiling. It had caused its fair share of stress.

      But journalism, preferably without the headaches, was her dream job. She took gigs when she could, to pay off the loans for her Bachelor of Arts.

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