Not really expecting or requesting any criticism for this, just a random flash I thought I'd share. Literally just penned ^_^
*
The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way down the lagoon. The last rays of the sun painted the rocks a lurid orange-pink, leaking onto the black, still surface of water. It was almost time.
John stood a few feet away from the water’s edge, as it gently licked the shore. He waited with bated breath as the sun finally gave up its torrid battle and sank from sight. Blue-black darkness descended and a chill breeze swept around him. John shivered, hunching into himself, feverish gaze locked on the water. There they remained as the darkness deepened and the ghost of the sun rose into the sky. He stared at the pock-marked face of the moon in despair.
She wasn’t coming.
He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t see why tonight of all nights she would leave him. Three nights ago, he’d heard the call – not a tune, or minstrel’s song, no, nothing so base. This was something else, an ephemeral melody expressed on another plane entirely. It sank into his skin, blood and bones until his whole body thrummed to its beat and he had to move, to dance, and leave. He climbed out of his window, on jitterbug legs that wouldn’t stay still and followed the sound.
And there she was.
At first, there was nothing discernible; no source, until he saw a glint, a fast moving glimmer that swished beneath the surface. Excited, he had followed the shimmer as it ping-ponged throughout the lagoon in a madcap dash of eclectic joy, each rebound eliciting another pulse of euphoric sound. It was magical. His body folded into the ground, losing animate focus, mind thrown into whole new worlds of ecstasy; stars were born, aged, and crumbled before his gaze as he watched whole galaxies come to life. All too soon, the song deserted him, leaving him drained and leaden-limbed.
Everything else seemed to lose appeal, as the days went by in a mundane blur. John didn’t pay attention to anything else, didn’t care to climb the biggest trees, to run through the fields playing tag. It wasn’t that colours were muted, or people less interesting, only that the song consumed all else; it echoed in his ears until he thought he’d go mad for the strain of hearing it and he scratched his face until it bled.
‘What happened to your face? It’s bleeding,’ his mother had asked, in a rare moment of lucidity.
‘Just playing,’ he replied, not turning away from the window.
Lucy was another who pestered him with her worry, only she was harder to put off. ‘Something’s wrong,’ she insisted once and after, in a smaller, quiet voice. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’
Of course, she couldn’t know and how could he tell her? His lips pursed in thought. Was he being selfish? Perhaps, he thought, he should let her know but right now, he was too tired to think on it. It always seemed to be the way of it here, as he slipped to the ground, the lagoon seemed to grow bigger and darker. The light was getting brighter; no longer just a muted gleam, he thought sleepily. The other night he was sure a face had formed, for the briefest moment, and it had been too beautiful, too impossibly perfect.
Rocks dug into his back as he lay still, locked in a staring match with the moon. He didn’t bother shifting. He was as comfortable as he could be. John wasn’t quite sure when the music had begun, or if it had ever stopped, he was just relieved that she was here now, with him once more. A cold, wet hand cupped his cheek and he shuddered as he felt the music truly rip into his soul. It was encompassed and made flesh before him; he only wished he could see it. Everything was black, dark and still. He couldn’t feel his body, didn’t want to – he was so much more, spread so large and though cold, he couldn’t be happier for his depth. Though he seemed empty from without, he knew now that millions of life forms swirled within, on a multitude of currents.
There were no worries, pressures or expectations. He existed and that was all. The moon lay down upon him, resting her weighty shadow on his shoulder. It was a comfortable silence between them, in which nothing was hidden. Memory was fading, though the odd reflection – trapped images in the undercurrents – ripped passed, taunting him with their elusiveness. The worst of it was Lucy’s face, which seemed to hang above his placid surface, calling desperately. He couldn't hear her. It was all warped, twisted into the melody that constantly echoed until nothing else remained.
Why did you post it?
