A bright bolt of lightning illuminated the crimson sky. The sea was churning. Michael walked along the beach, uneasy, and as he climbed the hill, goosebumps appeared. He stood, looking around. It was dim, and he heard a rustle beside him, ragged breathing. The sky was lit again by lightning. He couldn't see anyone on the hill; a large pile of trees caught his attention. A woman's giggle, cut off, and he heard it again. He brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead.
"Michael," he heard a fading whisper. She turned away, emptiness. For a moment, it seemed to him that it all made no sense. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a fire appeared, grazing the pieces of wood, climbing upward. The pile ignited instantly, the hill illuminated, a glow of light enveloping the entire space. They appeared from nowhere, first tiny, gray, then beautiful, tall. White, diaphanous dresses, revealing their lithe bodies. They moved gracefully, subtly, but there was something wild and passionate about their dance. He spotted her, her tousled dark hair, her sweaty face brimming with charm. He hesitated, frozen in place, filled with anxiety. The women stopped dancing, Liz turned around. She whispered something to one of the women. They both began to giggle.
Michael didn't know what to do; he didn't want to stand there any longer. The magic was omnipresent, everywhere, he could feel it all around him. He kept his eyes on the women, trying not to blink. Something made him close his eyes, but when he opened them, he found himself very close to the fire; he couldn't feel the heat. They began to dance around him, scrolling rapidly, and he couldn't see their faces clearly. He had only one face in mind, that of a beautiful blonde from the ocean. Someone grabbed his hands; the women laughed.
"You promised me a dance," Liz said, the two of them twirling rapidly around each other. Michael's head was pounding, his eyes were fogging, he didn't know what was happening to him or where he was. He saw only those dark eyes, reflecting the starry sky.
"Soul, you were supposed to help me free the souls," he heard his own words. The women laughed louder and louder, and they danced.
"Now let's dance, let's have fun, you'll meet her in the morning!" she shouted. He was tired, there were more and more of them, he saw their sweaty bodies floating in a wild dance. They appeared from afar.
She let go of his hands, he fell to the ground, hitting his head on a rock. All the laughter and dancing no longer reached him, he was far away, with his nymph.
***
The morning sun's rays reflected off his face, irritating his eyelids. He lay on the beach, the waves lapping at his feet.
"Michael," he heard a gentle whisper, and opened his eyes. He blinked, seeing beautiful green eyes, twinkling and sparkling with joy.
"Get up, Michael," she pleaded. He searched his memory—dancing, singing, fire—that was all he remembered. His body ached. She helped him stand. He looked at her closely. The blue dress didn't cover much, the light, long hair, and large, purple lips.
"Who are you?
" "I am you, and you are me," she said. He grew sad; perhaps everything that had happened had only been a dream. A thousand painful emotions surged through his heart. She drew closer to him, looked into his hazel eyes. She touched his cheek.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"I am you, and you are me," she added, and touched his lips. When she touched him, his whole body trembled; she kissed him gently; he forgot about his ocean mistress. He forgot about the dark eyes reflecting the stars, forgot about the wonderful, delicate nymph, daughter of the ocean. All of that vanished; now, in this moment, only she was there, and only that green-eyed woman mattered. She had taken over his mind, his heart, and his dream world.
They sat huddled together by the ocean, seagulls approaching the water, the sea churning, waves crashing against each other.
"Who are you?" he repeated, the sun sinking below the horizon, the red hue reminding him of the promise.
"I am you, and you are me, I am your soul," she said. Michael looked into her glassy green eyes; there was no longer that tenderness, mystery, or sparkle in them. They were dead and empty. He stood, gazing into the red sun, a delicate song reaching his ears. He opened his eyes wider, images passing through his mind.
"My nymph," he whispered. His soul laughed, a dead, malicious laugh.
"Your nymph is gone, she's dead," she said. He looked at her again, remembering when he saw Isabel, her purple lips, one cheek, and one shoulder illuminated by a delightful glow, just as he now saw a soul. In that emptiness, he saw a block of ice. He sank to the sand, staring into space.
"She's not dead, I got rid of my soul," he said.
"She died, you were with me, so she died!" she screamed. The soul's cry echoed through the flatlands
: DEAD DEAD
DEAD
...
The End
Brak komentarzy:
Prześlij komentarz