07-25-2018, 11:20 PM
The universe is bleeding.
At least, that’s what she thinks with the seafoam tickling her toes and the smell of salt clinging to the inner linings of her nose. The sun is drowning itself in the ocean directly in front of her, and the final colors it sheds are so wild and pure that she can feel the songs of ancient ancestors singing in the marrow of her bones from their forgotten graves. The shades of brilliant red and hazy orange and melting purple dance across her smooth face, highlighting the hints of sun-kissed freckles against her cheeks and across her nose.
A heavy sigh slips past her mouth, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. The sky is beginning to turn navy blue directly above her head, already moving on from the wreckage the sunset is leaving behind, and the faintest pinpricks of stars are starting to appear. The outlines of the constellations reminds her of her father, of the way he would swing her onto his shoulders and point out the Big Dipper and Orion and tell the dazzling stories of how they had been named so.
It doesn’t take very long before the aching remnants of the sun slip into the jaws of the ocean and she finds herself turning toward the thin band of trees just behind her. Fireflies are beginning to dance between the shadows of the trunks, floating lazily among the tall sway of grass. She wades between them — both the fireflies and the trees and the grass — on silent feet before taking another swig of the bottle of wine held in one hand scattered in thin, faint scars.
Her father always did love the stars… So much so that he flew up to touch them and never came back.
The bustle of both grieving people and those who uplift them come from the ocean-side bungalow not far down the beachfront. No tears kiss her face, even as hundreds more of her father’s lovers dazzle the darkening sky above her head. There’s enough light to see into the clearing in the midst of the trees and she finds a comfortable spot to rest on her back among the slender, waving blades of grass and the content fireflies. After a moment of silence, the wine bottle is against her lips again.
Well, shit.
At least, that’s what she thinks with the seafoam tickling her toes and the smell of salt clinging to the inner linings of her nose. The sun is drowning itself in the ocean directly in front of her, and the final colors it sheds are so wild and pure that she can feel the songs of ancient ancestors singing in the marrow of her bones from their forgotten graves. The shades of brilliant red and hazy orange and melting purple dance across her smooth face, highlighting the hints of sun-kissed freckles against her cheeks and across her nose.
A heavy sigh slips past her mouth, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. The sky is beginning to turn navy blue directly above her head, already moving on from the wreckage the sunset is leaving behind, and the faintest pinpricks of stars are starting to appear. The outlines of the constellations reminds her of her father, of the way he would swing her onto his shoulders and point out the Big Dipper and Orion and tell the dazzling stories of how they had been named so.
It doesn’t take very long before the aching remnants of the sun slip into the jaws of the ocean and she finds herself turning toward the thin band of trees just behind her. Fireflies are beginning to dance between the shadows of the trunks, floating lazily among the tall sway of grass. She wades between them — both the fireflies and the trees and the grass — on silent feet before taking another swig of the bottle of wine held in one hand scattered in thin, faint scars.
Her father always did love the stars… So much so that he flew up to touch them and never came back.
The bustle of both grieving people and those who uplift them come from the ocean-side bungalow not far down the beachfront. No tears kiss her face, even as hundreds more of her father’s lovers dazzle the darkening sky above her head. There’s enough light to see into the clearing in the midst of the trees and she finds a comfortable spot to rest on her back among the slender, waving blades of grass and the content fireflies. After a moment of silence, the wine bottle is against her lips again.
Well, shit.