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A memory
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A memory |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap 
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She was the strangest girl I had ever met. That thought went through my mind a hundred times that night, as I stumbled through brush that was sometimes waist-high, led only by the occasional glint of moonlight on her blonde hair whenever she passed through one of the scattered beams that had found their way through the trees. I wanted to tell her to wait, to slow down; but the thought of intruding on the sounds of the forest with my alien voice was, strangely, disquieting enough to stay my tongue. Suddenly, we reached the edge of the tree-cover. I was so intent on keeping up with her that I nearly ran right over her before I realized that she had stopped. I was able to pull myself up only inches away from her back, but not before my momentum had buried my face in her hair. The blonde wisps tickled at my nose as I mumbled a quiet apology, placing my hands lightly on her shoulders to regain my balance and push myself back. A faint scent of wildflowers and a soft musk I didn’t recognize lingered in my nostrils. She glanced over her shoulder at me, turning her head just enough so that I could see the finger she held to her lips. “Quiet,” she whispered. “Everything is louder here.” She must have seen the puzzled look on my face, because she put one hand on my shoulder and pulled me into a crouch, her other hand indicating an irregular dark spot a short distance away from her right foot. “Limestone caves,” she explained. “Most of them are small and shallow, but some go down forty feet or more. The ground here is like Swiss cheese; follow me closely, step lightly, and try to keep white ground below your feet.” At that she stood up, taking my large hand in her small one, and started off into the field, her eyes carefully scanning the ground. I kept my eyes locked on my feet and her heels, trying my best to match my steps to hers. The limestone beneath our feet fairly glowed in the cast of the full moon. The vegetation in this strange field was sparse, being as it was essentially a rock bed. Here and there, an occasional fern or grass clung stubbornly to small deposits of sandy soil that had collected wherever the acidic rains hollowed out a depression. Sweeping my gaze over the landscape, a vision struck me of two shadowed figures tiptoeing through an ancient graveyard, their sacreligious footfalls traipsing over the mammoth skeletons that gleamed whitely in the moon’s ghostly light. A chill crept up my spine at the thought; for the hundredth time I questioned both my sanity and my reason for being here. Not to mention that the giant topiaries, perched at the edge of the limestone field like beasts awaiting prey, weren’t helping matters any. She had assured me when I asked that they were not really topiaries; only ancient trees or groups of trees that had been overgrown and killed by the insidious kudzu vine that was so prolific here in the warm, humid climate. That did not change the fact that they looked like hundred-foot-high behemoths guarding this bizarre place, however. In fact, the thought that they were shaped by Nature’s hand rather than man’s made them all the more sinister in my mind. Wherever it was that we were going, I hoped it was out of sight of them, at least. At last, we reached the end of the cave-field, and she released my hand as her steps quickened. As the cool night air hit my palm I realized I had been sweating, and suddenly I missed her fingers’ familiar warmth. We were headed into another stand of trees, this one more dense than the last but with correspondingly thinner underbrush, so we were both able to make pretty good time. She walked with a purpose; there was no doubt in my mind that she knew exactly where she was going as she stepped nimbly and soundlessly between the slender trunks. Good thing, I thought with a mental snort, glancing at the shadowed bark of what seemed to be yards and yards of identical scrub pines. I’d be lost in an instant. At last, the way ahead brightened as the trees thinned, and a slight bounce to her step made me suspect that we were almost “there,” wherever that might be. I quickened my pace to match hers, and was soon rewarded with a sight that stopped me in my tracks. We stood at the edge of an almost circular meadow, rimmed by the shadowed straightness of the pine stands. From a distance, the forest’s edge resembled a dark stone wall stretching skyward, built there by ancient hands to guard this sacred place. It was well past midnight, and the moon was almost directly overhead; its silvery light was caught and reflected a thousand times over in the tiny droplets of dew that had already collected on the calf-high grass. The entire field was bathed in silver, and stood like a pool of pure water rippled only by an occasional breath of wind. It was only when I heard her breath catch in her throat at my side that I realized I had been holding mine. I let it out slowly between rounded lips, my eyes still locked on the magical scene before me. Her hand was in mine again, and she carefully laced our fingers as she turned her face to me. “This is what I wanted to show you,” the silken whisper came. The sound of her voice broke the spell I was under; I tore my eyes from the field and looked down into hers. They, like everything else, gleamed like polished silver in the moonlight. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, and she bent forward and ran the tips of three fingers over the blades of some nearby grass. “Look.” she said as she held them up for me to see. “Moon drenched.” Her fingertips shimmered in the soft light where the dew had touched them; they may as well have been coated with diamond dust. She smiled, bringing her fingers to her lips slowly. They parted slightly as she tasted the chill liquid with the tip of her tongue. “There is power in the full moon, you know,” she said softly, her eyes closed and her face turned up toward the sterling orb. I studied her face for a sign of humor, but all I saw was the curve of her throat, long eyelashes brushing over pale cheeks, and the flaring of her nostrils as she drew a slow, deep breath. “What are you, some kind of witch?” I asked, not able to keep all of the sarcasm out of my voice. I immediately regretted my words, though, for she turned to me and fixed me with a cool but penetrating gaze. “No,” she said quietly, “are you?” “Who me? A witch? What are you, crazy?” I sputtered, taken aback by being fed my own query. She cocked her head, regarding me with shadowed eyes. A slight smile tugged at her lips. “Now you’re getting warmer …” she quipped, turning her back to me and walking silently past me back to the tree line. I stood for a moment, not turning, my fists balled. Shaking my head slightly, I cursed my big mouth, trying to think of a way to apologize without making a complete idiot of myself. “Listen, I –“ I began, but my voice trailed off as she walked past me without a word, wading into the thick grass with obvious enjoyment. I stared, transfixed, as she made her way of the middle of the bejeweled field and folded her legs beneath her, then threw herself backward with a delighted squeal. She was completely naked. I watched for a moment as she rolled around on the soft grass, soft peals of laughter echoing through the somber pines. She lifted arms and legs into the air at odd intervals, raining showers of dew and uprooted grass all around when she did. Unmoving and speechless, I watched this bizarre vision unfold before me, not quite certain what to think of it, or whether I should even try. At last, after what seemed like an eternity (but was really only a few minutes), her antics ended and she lay still, eyes closed, arms spread wide as though to embrace the sky. I watched the gentle slowing of the rise and fall of her chest as her breath misted above her face. Finally, I forced myself to walk toward her, and as I neared I noticed a smile of undisguised bliss on her damp face. She must have heard my approach, clumsy as it was, but she gave no indication of it. I stood for a moment gazing down at her unmoving shape, then lowered myself to the ground at her side. I sat in silence for a moment, looking over the once again quiet meadow, then gathered my breath to speak. “Um, is there any particular reason why you felt the need to, um …” I hesitated, trying to choose my words carefully. “Roll in the grass naked?” she finished matter-of-factly, as though I had asked what she had eaten for breakfast this morning. “Uh – yeah.” I smiled weakly. She rolled onto her knees with catlike grace, startling me a bit with the suddenness of it. Her face nearly level with mine, I could see the dew shimmering on her skin like faery dust. Her hair framed her face with damp tendrils, accented here and there with pine needles and broken blades of grass. She looked me straight in the eye, hands perched on her knees, and flashed an impish smile that made her look for all the world like a wood nymph come to wreak mischief on this unsuspecting mortal. There was laughter in her voice. “Sure,” she said, leaning close as though to reveal the secret to an ancient magic. “No grass stains.” < !signature--> You cannot choose the way of your death, but the path you choose will determine its own end. [This message has been edited by Skyfyre (edited 12-23-1999).] |
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| © Copyright 1999 Linda Anderson - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Very interesting story, great descriptions and imagery. Hmm.. just a question, where did you get inspiration for this? I'm curious, it seemed like a strange ending. Good writing, though, I'd like to se more  In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
I can't say anything just yet, so I'll save my spot and edit it later as appropriate! |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
This is very good! You do a good job of putting us in the feet of the narrator. . . you make us feel what he feels. . . your description of the imagery is also quite good. . . "Her fingertips shimmered in the soft moonlight where the dew had touched them. . . " excellent! I wonder if I would have been as amazed as he was when he saw you rolling around in the grass. . . I think that I would have joined you!! Very good, my friend. . . That which gives light must endure burning --Victor Frankl |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
My dear you are a wonderful writer! I hope you've resolved to become published in the coming year, you are definitely talented enough to do it!  |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
Dusk Treader: This is a true story, slightly embellished of course as I was obviously not the narrator; that, I think, covers my inspiration. As far as the ending: 'tis true that the story does not end there, but had I continued much further past that point, I would have been required to post it in Adult. Christopher: You, not able to say anything?  That has to be SOME kind of record ...Sven: Thank you, my friend, your comments are always appreciated. You know I like to hear what struck you about a story -- and as far as the amazed/joining me part, look for the second half soon to be posted in Adult! Poet deVine: I thank you both for your reply and for your vote of confidence -- but to be honest, I wouldn't know where to begin as far as getting published!  Again, thanks to you all. --Kess |
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