Of Sea and Sky: Part 8

            “You’re silent as stars,” Caspian said, coming up the cliff behind Lani on one evening when fall was very near. The sun clung to the sky, casting its desperate fingers over the water, over Lani, over Caspian.

            “I found it,” she answered, corralling her hair over one shoulder so that it would not whip him in the face when he came near. From within the fold of her voluminous robes, she withdrew a coarsely wrapped object.

            “You found what?”

            “The wish.”

            Caspian took it with fumbling hands, wondering why the feeling behind his sternum felt more like desperation than joy. He had to see it. And then he did. It was a piece of glass.

            “Something of sea and sky,” he murmured, smoothing fingers over it.

            “Made by lightning, smoothed by the ocean.”

            “How is it a wish?” He handed the shining glass back to her.

            “I’ll show you.” Her voice was very sad.

            Lani held up the mirror toward the waning sun, which glinted off the ocean-polished surface to catch the eye of the last of the summer trade boats. There was a series of flashes in return.

            “If I flash back, they’ll come for us.”

            Though she made a move to do just that, Caspian’s hands were in the way.

            “Don’t.” His heart was tapping enthusiastically against his chest, and when he looked at the boat, all he felt was sickly sweet dread.

            “Don’t?”

            “You said we’d wish for the same thing, in the end. All I want is to stay here. With you.”

            Though the muscles of her face wanted to stretch with contentment, Lani held them in check.

            “I’d go with you, if you went,” she clarified. Caspian shook his head, terrified now. Without thinking, desperate, Caspian’s hand darted out to take the glass and throw it into the sea. It gleamed like a falling star as it went.

The End

Of Sea and Sky: Part 7

            Lani waited for the boat to sail away before she went home. It had touched the island’s shore, the flames had gone out, but she had not seen who was on it or what they did. She glanced at the memories on the sand dune, the cliff. Reflections of shadow through glass.

            She stood in her doorway, feeling like one made of sticks—stiff and fragile and very hateful toward fire. Lani paced the shack four times, noting idly that she needed new flowers. Without further thought, she slipped into the sweet evening air. It was getting so cool, so quickly now.

            It was night before she made it to the center of the island where the jasmine bloomed. She’d never brought Caspian there and it was free from shadows. Her practiced hands plucked the flowers, but her old, mad peace was gone. The island queen was unsettled.

            “So this is why you always smell of jasmine,” a deep voice spoke from behind her, back the way she’s come. Lani whirled, spraying jasmine petals in a wide circle.

            “But you left!”

            Caspian sighed, “I tried to.” He stalked toward her, long strides that no longer stumbled in the fine sand. “But then I realized, you’re my lighthouse, Lani. I wouldn’t make it without you.”

            “What makes you think that?’ Lani asked, but she was teasing. Her eyes sparkled and flirted now that she allowed them to. Caspian scooped her close, looking down on her with a smirk.

            “Because it’s impossible.”

            “Oh,” Lani nodded in understanding, but Caspian was very talkative and could not contain himself.

            “I’ve never seen anything so clearly as when I’m with you, even the shadowy things.”

            “I don’t think I’m meant to guide anyone, though. Lighthouses do that.”

            “No,” Caspian shook his head. “They sit on the rocks and don’t let anyone near.”

            “I suppose I’ve done enough of that.”

            “I suppose you have.” He kissed her.

Of Sea and Sky: Part 6

            “There’s a boat, Lani.”

            She sat in the shallowest water, picking the petals off a flower, the last of the really warm summer days glowing on her skin. One by one, white petals rained into the tide and were dragged away by the hungry sea.

            “There’s a boat.”

            Lani plucked the last petal, held it between two fingers close to her face, studied it. Then she stood, let it drop. A shorter version of her silk-patterned garb clung to her wet thighs.

            “You’re going.”

            “You’re going with me.” There was something so desperate in his tone that Lani closed her eyes toward the sea. She reached out a blind hand and found his poorly shaven face deftly.

            “I’m not. It’s a nice fire, but it isn’t a wish.”

            Caspian’s mouth opened and closed helplessly. He wrung the hem of his white shirt in agitation. Opening her eyes, Lani turned. Keeping her hand on his face and adding another, she stood on her tiptoes. Then she kissed him. She kissed him goodbye.

            “Lani, I can’t just leave you.” Hanging his head as one under enormous weight, he expelled a heavy breath. His fists clenched impotently in her hair.

            She was sad, smiled, made no response. His fists unclenched. His footsteps turned away toward the smoke rising toward the bright blue sky.

Still more to go...

Of Sea and Sky: Part 4

            After that the nights began to grow longer. Summer was a dead man walking along the shore.

            “We have to find it by autumn,” Lani repeated until it was a mantra in the shipwrecked boy’s head.

            “We will,” Caspian assured her, taking her hand to drag her down to the beach.

            But one day it rained. The sky split itself wide and bled down upon the little island, drawing colorful blooms from the bland shore. Lani was among them. She raced from the shack into the storm, her colorful outfit darkened by the water. It clung to her body like a punch to the gut. At first, Caspian stood near her, in the slight shelter of the shack’s roof. At first, he thought this was another of her quirks, standing still, head upturned toward the rain.

            But then he saw her shaking. She turned, stared him in the eyes. And he saw madness. He hadn’t really believed it until then. That she was mad.

            Caspian got wet then, stalking toward her, grasping one slim wrist, dragging her toward their favorite spot on the cliff.

            “Not here, Caspian. You’ll ruin it!” her voice held an edge of hysteria though she did not sob or cry. Caspian was stuck on the way she’d said his name, like it was her own. He was stuck on her acknowledgement that their place was special. Never had he seen her so emotional.

            “We’ve been on this island together for weeks and you haven’t told me. Tell me. How did you get here?”

            She didn’t answer, simply stared out at the sea, haunted.

            “How, Lani?” Shaking her shoulders, he forced her to meet his gaze. Her eyes were so pale that he could see the reflection of his own dark irises more clearly than her blue.

            “A shipwreck,” her voice was shaking. “A shipwreck!” she screamed. “In a storm, this storm.”

            “Not this storm, Lani. A long time ago.” Caspian drew her against his chest, wrapped her in his arms.

            “I have to wish myself free.”

            “I know.”

            “You believe me?” Lani pulled back, all trace of madness replaced by skepticism.

            “I do,” Caspian lied. She settled her head against his chest again, and when she stared at the sea, there were no ghosts in the waves.

Of Sea and Sky: Part 3

            Apparently, making wishes involved a lot of searching for things in the sand. Caspian followed Lani from one end of the island to another, dragging his feet in the sand. She’d explained patiently that what they searched for was something of sea and something of sky that, when mixed together, would yield a wish.

            “Why will this work again?” he asked on the second morning of hunting.

            “Because it is impossible. The universe in a tea cup.” That was all she would say on the subject.

            But as the days past, Caspian found he didn’t mind quite so much. If their task was futile, it was no more futile than any other means of being saved. Besides, Lani looked quite beautiful on the beach, toes in the water, sun on her skin. She looked even more beautiful when he tucked a flower behind her ear, one from the trees on the far side of the island, which she loved.

            “You are so quiet, Lani,” Caspian said one night. They sat on a rocky cliff, a fire behind them and the stars beyond. The ocean churned with a storm approaching. “So quiet all the time.”

            Saying nothing, Lani looked out at the sea. Brow furrowed, she might have been listening to a song there. Her shoulders were bare to the fire glow, her dress a flow of wispy fabric. Raising her hand, she flicked at her face, the tear removed catching fire as it fell to the sand.

The faint scent of jasmine reached Caspian’s nose, made bumps dance down his arms. Capian rose to his feet, grabbing that teary hand as he did. He drew the island queen to her feet.

“Show me,” he said, refusing to allow her hands free. With a sigh of defeat, Lani nodded. And Caspian had been right; she was a dancer.

There's still a few parts to go.

The Carnival of Fallen Stars

A Simple Love Connection

I thought with school coming up (or having already started for some of you), people would be in need of an easy read. I wrote this the other night. It needs editing and it's only part of a larger story, but I think it's cute.


Piper leaned back in her desk chair; one stiletto-booted foot perched on the edge of the vintage wood counter at Hamelin Books and the other designer boot crossed over the first. It was a Wicked Witch-like picture to be greeted with, the sight of only those two feet, but Piper really didn’t care. She loved her job, but she didn’t feel like a bookstore required such propriety. Cordelia, her boss, would not have agreed. But Cordelia wasn’t there.
The little bell above the door let Piper know that a customer had entered, but she didn’t look up from her book. At least, it was her intent to remain undistracted by the new arrival, until she heard footsteps approach the counter and then stop. She waited, refusing to look up for a few precious moments.
“That must be some book,” said a male voice. Piper’s insides curled at the sound which was Irish and smooth. She set aside her worn copy of Finnegans Wake to look at the newcomer. She wished she’d kept her eyes on the rather less attractive James Joyce because she wasn’t prepared for the guy that stood before her now. He wasn’t the usual sort---nerdy, arty, skinny, cute but not handsome. This guy was tall and lean but muscular. Her eyes lit on his light blonde hair that looked a lot like a lion’s mane, and then let her gaze travel down to his dancing green eyes.
“Can I help you find something?” She found her voice, and at the same time suppressed a self-satisfied smirk as the guy’s gaze turned appreciative.
“I was told that if I wanted to find Roethke I had to come here.” The guy grinned. “My name’s Ian, by the way.”
“You definitely came to the right place,” she said, ignoring his question. “We’re the only bookstore around that carries Roethke.”
“So you aren’t going to tell me your name?”
“Well, technically, you didn’t ask,” she said. “Roethke’s in the poetry section, up those stairs and to the—What are you doing?” he’d reached down to pluck an old name tag from the jar of pens on the counter.
“George,” he read. Then he met her eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not your name?”
“No,” she tried to sound cold, but she had a feeling he didn’t buy it. She sighed and gave in. “Strangers call me Melissa,” she began. “Family and acquaintances call me Mel. But my friends call me Piper.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s my last name,” she explained.
“But I don’t want to be a stranger or an acquaintance or even a friend.” Her traitorous breath caught. “So I guess I’ll have to call you something else.” Now she raised an eyebrow. He stroked his chin in mock-thought. “Melissa…Izzy?” Warmth curled in her at the way he said the name. And he smirked because he could tell she liked it, but he didn’t say anything. He did, however, turn and walk to the stairs. Then he stopped.
“I’m not sure I can find it on my own, Iz.” She noticed he was trying to make a sad kind of face. It was actually pretty effective because she found herself rising and walking up the stairs with him.
She helped him find the Roethke book, standing on her toes to reach the top shelf. In a move as old as time, Ian stepped up behind her and grabbed it so that they were pressed close together in the isolating row of books. She turned, but he didn’t move. She could smell his scent, a combination of coffee and spice.
“What do you want that book for?” she said to break the thick silence. He stepped back.
“A class at the university,” he said. “But I’ve been meaning to read some of his poems for a while now.”
“You like poetry?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
“Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I’m illiterate,” he said, pretending affront.
“In most cases it does,” she joked. Then she bit her lip which drew his heated gaze. She made a decision. “Follow me.”
She led him through the brightly lit rows of books into the back corner. Then she knelt down to a small section of shelf.
“This is where I keep the best books,” she admitted. Ian laughed.
“Hoarding them for yourself, Iz?”
“Something like that,” she laughed. “Actually, these are mine. I usually keep some of my favorite books around, just in case.” She half-smiled, wondering if he thought she was crazy. He was really thinking that she was fascinating and beautiful, but she couldn’t tell from his face.
She rose and handed him an old book. He set the Roethke aside to take it. It was an old copy of poems by Mandelstam.
“An old friend of mine translated them himself. They’re kind of amazing. You can borrow it, if you want.” He smiled at her.
“I want,” he grinned. She laughed a little. She felt isolated in their little space between the shelves. And she found herself liking this guy way too much.
“Come on, let’s get you checked out.” She slid past him toward check out, and he followed. She was acutely aware of his breathing and his footsteps. What was it about this guy? She’d met tons of cute, charming guys before. Her heels clicked on the wood stairs as she descended, jarring her back to reality. Then she heard him curse.
“What?” she asked.
“I left the Roethke back there,” he said. “I was distracted.” His eyes caught hers and held with an unspoken message that said it wasn’t any book that had distracted him. She looked away. “I’ll go get it and be right back.”
Piper went back to the counter, head spinning. She bit her lip before turning to ring up his purchase manually. Then, before she could stop herself, she had a pen in her hand and her fingers were scribbling ten digits and two hyphens on the back of his receipt. She shook her head at herself as she finished.
Ian appeared at the top of the stairs and a smile flitted over her face. She liked him, even she couldn’t deny it.
“Hey,” he said. “Here.” He handed her the book. She slid he receipt into the front cover and put both books into a bag. Ian watched her in silence.
“Take good care of my book,” she said.
“I will.” He smiled, and it did funny, unwanted things to her heart. “Well,” he said. “I’ve distracted you enough for one day.” She snorted. “I suppose you won’t give me your number then?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. And she didn’t have one for him anyway.
The door jingled, and then he was gone. And Piper felt oddly lost for a few moments after that, like she had to reacquaint herself with being Piper alone and not Piper with Ian. I was most unnerving.

Anyway, the idea is to start out the story with this little exchange that seems really really normal and then reveal the truth. I'm not sure what the truth is. By the way, the story's called Pied. I'm leaning towards making it take place after the world has pretty much been ravaged, but they're in one of the few rebuilt places. We shall see.

Can fluff be painful?

Instead of the witty awesome lyrical prose piece I wanted, I wrote a poem. But it's still rough yet.
Instead, enjoy a angsty romance oneshot I wrote a long time ago. Just recently posted it on FictionPress though.

http://www.fictionpress.com/secure/story/story_preview.php?storyid=2838395&chapter=1