Thursday, April 26, 2012

From Origin to Finish (A Psuedo Excerpt)

For the few of you that follow this, you know I've been updating some old flash fiction pieces into longer, fuller, more fleshed-out short stories. Here's one such piece of flash fiction from so long ago that I'll be dipping into this weekend (hopefully) and expanding upon.

"This Sky Is Yours, This Sky Is Mine"

She said she wanted a soundtrack to steal horses by, so I ordered the stars to play the harps of angels. Sighs like warm breath on bare skin filled the valley as light plucked across the strings and she asked for rain. I put palm to ground and brought meteors hurtling from the clouds in silver streaks of brilliance and breathless, the flashes illuminating her cheeks in the dark. She shut her eyes and the space rocks dissipated beyond the atmosphere as I reigned in the clouds to sprinkle her baptismally against the backdrop of mesas, cacti and unconcerned tumbleweeds.

She said she wanted to float along the water beneath the tongue of the sun’s warmth and I swam beside her, paddling with one hand and hoisting her just above the waves with the other. Tiny beads of sweat rolled down her bronzing skin and onto my head, mingling with the bitter ocean water splashing against my face. She told me that she imagined the flapping of seagull wings wind-kissing her cheeks. I said I could get us to the other side of the ocean by the reddish-orange of dawn as she smiled, eyes closed and face tilted towards the sun.

She said she wanted to taste the clouds along her lips, so we hiked to the highest peak we could find. The brush underneath crunched and snapped as we climbed, higher and higher into the altitude that wrapped its heavy hands around our lungs and squeezed gently. The fog higher up held the cold close, sticking clothing to warm skin as fingers intertwined for support along the trail. The smell of root and bark, forever freezing, tickled our senses as we came to the precipice at the top while the valley below, smothered in firs and evergreens, seemed a perfect bed after the journey. An unspoken agreement found us leaping into the chasm, devouring cloud after cloud while descending, tasting the elements with every gulp of air; honeyed sunbeams marinated in the first snowfall of winter melted along taste buds and the valley welcomed us like a grandmother’s embrace.


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