Disclaimer
Dear all, behold the fruits of my Tuesday-night boredom. I'd like you to think of how bored I must be to actually be writing this. I live on the edge of nowhere, none of my housemates are around for me to pester, I don't own a television, and I'm in no mood to go out in this horrible weather. So I'll just write. I don't have a lot of time for this, so I'll try to make it short - it's not really supposed to be anything more than a drabble. I also am dying to see what comes out of my head when I'm in this slanted mood, adding to that the influence of the full moon... that never fails to do crazy things to me. Again, this is part of my desire to experiment with opening up a little bit more, so it's sort of a self-validation thing. Lastly, I hope you enjoy it... or whatever :) Ready, set, bounce.
***
She leaned back against the ruddy stone wall, and watched the moonlight cast strange lights upon her pale leg, half-exposed under a sweet summer dress, her skin dewy with the balmy night heat. The road was solitary, and she was alone. She let that sink in. No one would be coming back from the village to disturb her quiet; all of nature seemed in favor of her solitude.
She drank in the light of the full moon. How strange, for things so sinister to be attributed this brilliant sea of purity illuminating the rocks underneath her bare feet. She felt so at peace.
A hiss. The creak of brambles within the cold forest behind the wall. Scampering, puppy-like footsteps. Climbing. Boy straddled the wall above her, cushioning wild berries in his arms as though they were a baby. He threw some directly into her autumnal hair. She started, and hissed like a cat. He laughed, an airy, ringing laugh that rippled into the moist silence of the night.
He jumped down unto the rocks and grass as she shook vigorously the remaining berries out of her hair. He took great offense at this, for he had just been gathering the berries in the wild all evening.
"Hi, Girl."
"Hi, Boy."
"You need to pick up these berries off the ground."
Fire in her eyes. Wide innocence in his.
"I say, I will not! It's your fault for throwing them at me anyway."
"I didn't know you would drop them!"
"Oh, and what else should I have done with them, pray tell?"
"I don't know."
He pouted.
"You oughtn't to of handled them so viciously."
Her nostrils flared. Her hair was rumpled, with stray berry juice making it sticky. She would have struck him, for her nature was impulsive and easily provoked.
"I know you want to hit me," he whispered somberly. "That's why I'm ducking away."
She laughed. A spontaneous, riotous one. He quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned.
"You followed me."
"Can't prove it, can you?"
"You always follow my trail."
Silence. The crickets sawed away. Making sure to keep a distance between them, Boy leaned against the wall much like Girl had done instances before.
"You didn't ask to taste the berries."
His voice was hurt. She rolled her eyes tenderly at him.
"I haven't a mood for sweetness."
"But I picked them fresh off the bush just now."
"I say, will you stop pouting your lips?"
"I am'n't."
"The night is young."
"So it is. The air is sweet."
"So that is. I'll try later."
"Could you keep some with you? My hands are sticky."
A nod of her head. He passed a handful of the savage wine berries into her open palms. Instinctively, she tried one, wetting her lips with its sultry juice.
"I say, Boy, are these safe?"
"What?"
He had taken notice of a squirrel on a majestic fir yonder, and had been just about to toss it a stick.
"The berries. Are they of eating quality?"
"I'm not sure."
"You're never sure!"
In a fit of anger she flung the berries onto the ground.
"I shan't argue with you."
"It's your fault."
"Let's go."
"Where are we going?"
"Down the road, of course."
And he looked at her like she was very much a silly creature. Smiling, he interlocked their arms, and laughed when she scowled. She didn't move her arm away.
"Let's go down the road. I'm old. I'm old, and my bones ache."
"You're not."
Their eyes met briefly before he broke the gaze, and looked forth at the stony path they would tread.
"As for me, I'm quite young."
"You're not."
He was silent. They made their way to the start of the country road, and stood there for a while, himself staring into something beyond the open moonlight that herself could not espy. She was getting markedly bored waiting for him to finish, so she kicked his heel.
"Let's," he said, and they started walking in the nighttime. Along that walk not one of them said anything, for there was little of note swimming inside her head that night, save for the endearing blueness of his eyes and her gratitude at his intrusion into her lonely scene. Likewise, he was very much intrigued by the sweetness of her dark hair, and how beautiful it must be to comb through it wispily; many times when he wandered through the forest scavenging for discarded firewood and rosemary and other such useless things, he wished she would join him in his frequent quests down that same road, though her brow be lowered in anger at him most of the time. She was his friend.
They reached the lake, the centre of which glimmered in the moonlight, with its deeper parts caressed by shadow.
"I would like me a drink of water," said he, and, letting go her arm, trotted unto the edge of that downy pool and tipped some water into his lips.
"I should like me a small dip," announced she. "It's all thanks to you, you know."
"Your hair is prettier with the berry juice."
"You're poking fun at me."
"No. It smells nice."
She hesitated slightly for fear of the cold water, but waded in with determination, the hem of her dress gliding across the surface like a ghost's train.
He sat himself cross-legged at the edge of the water. His pale hair was rumpled, and he had dirt on his nose. His clothing was likewise sullied, from rushing through the forest and getting involuntarily splotched with soil.
"You wouldn't be fancying the rest of the berries, by any chance?"
"You ought to throw them away."
"I dug the dirt myself. I've worked too hard for them."
"Why don't you have some yourself?"
"My hands are dirty."
"Give some here."
"Get out of the water."
"Get off the shore."
He rolled up his shirt-sleeves and trousers as though it would make a difference once he was in the water. Yet he felt it was customary etiquette that needed to be obeyed.
He entered the water, and waded toward her, the berries in his hands.
She swam towards him. Her hair hung dark and moist and limp against her soaked shoulders. He opened out his palms for her to take some berries, and submerged himself more fully in the water.
"Will you have some more?"
"No, I'll toss the rest."
He let the berries slip out of his hands down to the lake bottom.
"These berries," said she. "They leave a sweet taste in the mouth."
A soft sigh. He leant towards her, and kissed her, the tips of his fingers on her neck, trickled with water.
She was disappointed with the sweetness of the kiss. She could not taste the berries on his lips, and pulled into herself slightly.
"Your lips are not as sweet as I'd like."
He drew deep offence at this. He was not angry with her motion away from him. He fancied his lips as rather sweet-tasting, and did not like this insult to their fragrance.
"You're not going to kiss me again?""
She edged closer to him, the fabric of her dress wrapping around his knees. He took her hands in his, and buried his face in the waves of her hair.
I have kissed you, a thousand times over, in my starlight dreams.
He jolted in the sudden way that was his custom.
"What d'you think lies at the bottom of yonder well?"
"What well?"
"I don't know."
Silence.
He gazed down at the haunted fabric cascading in the still waters. She was light as a squirrel. Hers was the only movement he wanted to know.
"It grows late."
"So it does."
"Shall we sleep, dear brother?"
"Let's."
They waded out onto the bank riddled with pebbles. He had managed to not get his hair wet. He wasn't particularly fond of the water.
On they walked into the singular night. She was aware of no one but themselves, and he could not discern a time other than night, in this moment, living with this dream, which even now spiralled into the acrid sweetness of the ethereal. She didn't want to let him go.
They reached the house, and she tipped the door open. It was dark, and entrapped the heat that dizzied the souls of young ones on these summer nights of yore. They creaked over the floorboards, until he reached a white bed, soft with the light of the moon extending out of the gossamer sky into the heated silence of the house.
"I shall sleep," he announced, and plopped down onto it, his clothing wet and his heart relaxed.
"And I," cried she, violently plummeting into a mahogany rocking chair that squealed out its harsh rejection. Yet it was all contrived. She fell fast asleep.
Sighing, he looked out into the morning light of dawn, and knew that this is where he wanted to be. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment