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Monday, July 23, 2012

I Wrote A Flash Fiction Story

I woke up to the sensation of my phone vibrating under my head. Pulling the phone out from under my pillow I saw that the time was 1:30 AM. I quickly and quietly crawl out of bed, slip into the jeans and tshirt that I laid out the night before, slide my bare feet into my leather moccasins, and slip through my window. With a fwump I landed on the soft green grass a few feet below my window.
I crept along the house a few feet, hardly daring to breathe as I passed under my parents' window, and then I was homefree. We live on a dead end street so it's very quiet. I started walking. To the end of the street through the small bit of trees that we call woods and emerged in my favorite place in the world. A small roughly circular field, surrounded on all sides by more trees. It was dark there and I could see more stars than I'd ever seen before. Sometimes I'd come here and lie down in the middle and stare at the stars, dreaming, until I'd fall asleep. Then I'd realize my mistake and dash home, my parents would be frantic. I never did tell them where I'd been though. I'm sure other people knew about the clearing but it felt like it was mine and mine alone. I didn't want anyone else to know. Until one night when I silently emerged through the brambles and saw a dark shape lying in the grass. As my eyes adjusted to the light of the full moon I saw it was a boy, probably about my age. There was something boyish and innocent in his expression as he looked at the obsidian and diamond sky above him. And, without a second thought, I walked toward him, making sure to make enough noise that I wouldn't startle him. I came within a few feet of him but he still didn't look up at me. So I laid down next to him, maybe about six inches between us and, without quite understanding why, brushed my fingers against his. It was a feather touch. It could have been the grass if not for the warmth of it. And yet, he still didn't look at me. But he smiled, as if he'd been expecting me. And there, on that night, under the watchful eyes of the heavens, it made sense. Of course he'd been waiting for me. Why had I been so late?
But, of course, it didn't matter. I was there now. He grasped my hand and looked over at me, a serene smile playing about his lips. The full moon's light hit the side of his face, making it more angular and yet, somehow softer, as if he were glowing from the inside. I ached to kiss this boy, this boy I didn't know and that felt vaguely like a dream. Longed to feel his lips pressed against my own. And just then, he moved toward me and I closed the distance, softly pressing our mouths together. I'd only kissed one other boy and it hadn't been good. I was 14 and, for the most part, it felt like children playing at being grown. But this was different. Warm, slow and lovely. Right.
We only kissed and then we went back to lying side by side, staring at the stars.
I become drowsy soon as he hummed a lullaby and I drifted off to sleep with my head on his chest and our hands still clasped. The sun woke me gently the next day, the birds my alarm clock, but I woke alone.

I never did see the boy again. For weeks, I went to the clearing every night but I never saw anyone else. And it's been months now. It's starting to get cold, my breath leaving my body as visible puffs of air. But still I wait for him whenever I can. I feel it is what I must do, wait for him as he waited for me.

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