Sleep

She drifted in through the folds of the curtains, a handbag jingling at her side, swaying with movement and the wind. She smirked to herself, gliding over the bed, looking down over the sleeping figures. A man curling his arm around a woman, his chest to her back, his chin, his lips resting on her shoulders. They were breathing so easily, so quietly together.

Sleep reached into her bag, iridescent, though with the low moonlight, only a pale glow emanated from her skin. Or what would be considered her skin. She frowned, bringing it to her face, cold eyes surveying the colors, trying to remember when it was human, if it was ever human. She returned her hand to her bag, dipping slim fingers into the brown pouch. White pearlesque sand pouring through her fingers, falling like rain onto the sleeping lovers below her. She sprinkled it gently over the bed, the grains disappearing into their skin, their sheets. She floated down, bearing down close over the man, taking in his smell.

Her eyes glowed red as she inhaled his scent, taking a hand, curving it over his cheek. She pulled back startled, as if burned by fire, when he turned over, away from his lover, but settled back down next to him. She ran finger down his forearm, watching as his skin reacted to her touch, the hairs on his arm rising. She drifted over him, bringing her cold face to his, kissing his warm lips with her icy ones. As she kissed him, she sprinkled more white sand over him, his breaths becoming slow and deep, calm and content. She took her lips from his own, sorry for leaving the warmth he radiated, lovingly running a hand over his cheeks, through his hair.

She peeked over the man’s shoulder, eyes returning to their normal black, fierce and calculating. She moved over him, resting on his lover’s shoulder, her own ghostly body rigid. She drifted onto the other side of the woman, onto the ground alongside the bed, placing her hands under her chin, watching the woman sleep peacefully. Her eyes glowed, darker than black, eerie, from the worlds beyond. Her body transformed into a more solid force, instead of visible air, she became like water contained. Her hair turned black, conforming to the current color of her eyes.

Sleep opened her coat, reaching far deep inside it, and pulled out the tiniest of bags. It was smaller than the palm of her hand, the velvet shading drifting from red to black, depending on the moonlight. She opened the pouch, and poured a very fine black dust into her pale palm. She pinched a small amount between her thumb and finger and scattered it over the woman’s face. The woman’s breathing stopped momentarily, her face scrunched, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. Sleep watched, quietly, maliciously, waiting.

Slowly, tears fell from the woman’s face as she began to weep in her dreams. 

_

he burns

He burns, the fire in their hearts, without him they do not live, have reason to live. He burns, cold or hot, night or day. Time does not matter. He does not care. The fire knows the flames, knows what he can do. He watches all the people staring at him, gawking, wondering, awed by the story that the colors burn in their eyes for them. They watch, transfixed by his power, all knowing and deadly if they come too close. He knows that they look at him for light, for warmth, to feel alive. He sees it in their eyes when they stare, pupils moving along with the flames. They dance tonight, in the pale moon's rays, moving their bodies, swaying to the music of his flames, waves of color flowing in and out of them. He grows as the night moves on, feeding off rhythm and tension, delight and sorrow. He strives to make them come to him, he loves it, they live for him, they die because of him.

But then, he sees her. She is in the back, hidden from his flames, they do not alight her face. She is, instead, illuminated by the shadows he is creating. Her eyes, he cannot see. Softly pale skin, radiating light, a slight coolness he can feel from the distance, perhaps everyone else can, too, for they move unwittingly away from her as she moves. She won’t move towards him, though, she does not follow his heat like the others, his lure to bring them in close and capture their hearts. She stays back, she watches everyone else. His flames flicker, agitated, when she starts to walk, not towards him, to his disappointment. The fire burns a darker shade of red, wondering why he was disappointed. She will come to him, they always do.

The fire burns a little brighter, trying to get his light out past the couple layers of people, trying to entice her in with temptation and desire, a chance to feel warmth. His flames dance in the moonlight, writhing in between the shadows of man and nature alike, trying to touch her face. But she moves in and out of the shadows, like nothing he has ever seen. His flames burn orange, angry that he cannot touch her, get her to come his way. He watches as her hands grace the backs of the people she is walking behind, and he turns, as she moves slowly around his base, picking up good pieces of wood, here and there. Blue flickers within his flames at the sight of her hand on something else.

But, then, she’s gone. His flames flare wildly as he tries to peek around, rising as high as he can go, above the heads of the crowd. He sees nothing, his temperature flaring, wondering how she could’ve gone right by him without his noticing. There hadn’t been any awkward movement in the crowd. She just disappeared. His flames burn, the heat intense, causing bystanders to back away. They pounce onto some nearby grass, startling a man, who quickly kicks cool dirt over it. The fire turns, snapping out a tendril of red, burning the bystander. The heat leaves a singe on his shirt, causing him to point at the fire. Others start to gather, but he wishes they didn’t. They began blocking his view, he couldn’t see past them. He feels a cool edge on his side, alarmed at the lack of a flame in the area. He feels another, this time behind him. They were trying to put him out. Before he had a chance to gaze at her, to have her feel him. His flames spread out, but every time they touched a new patch of soil, they were put out.

He turns orange, gathering heat from the bystanders without them realizing it, some feeling faint with the fatigue he was exerting out of them. He grew, and he grew, expansive, red, white, orange, some blue escaping his grasp, he was uncontrollable now, how dare they try to interfere with his game, his plan to get her to him, to have her feel his warmth, embrace him for what he was. He towers over everyone, a tight spiral of glowing embers, higher and wider he got, everyone moving away, frightened he would scald them. He shields all of them from his view, trying but failing at keeping his flares close, growing hotter, more dangerous, ever deadly. Out of control and white, flames licking everything within reach, that reach growing further out, scared he wouldn’t see her again.

And then he feels her. She’s looking at him, she was still holding onto the pieces of wood, gazing at his magnificent flames. He watches her as a bystander comes to her side, pulling, tugging on her arm, to get her away from his heat. He lashes out, red and orange, nicking the bystander’s skin, making him angry. The bystander tugs on her arm more forcefully, she stumbled into that direction. But she moves her arm out of the byst­ander’s grasp, shaking her head, gazing directly his face. The bystander stutters a few words, backing away as his lips continue to move. She turns away and looks up.

And he sees her eyes for the first time. They are the same color as his flames, they were changing as he was changing, flickering as he did. She continues to gaze at him, intense and unwavering, and he knows she will not be the first one to look away. White trickles into him, blue on the edges, he’s uncomfortable with this affect she has. He gets smaller, letting go of the red and the orange, condensing into only a bit of fury and fatigue. She looks at him, again, blinking only once in the infernal heat. Her face is highlighted with pink, rose tints of the bitter cold that lay just beyond his reach, dark circles under her eyes, watery tears threatening to escape. 

He burns.

She reaches out a slightly glowing hand, sparkling fingers moving gracefully against his flames, caressing his tips, flicking on the insides of his bloom. Momentarily orange, for no one dares to challenge him, to touch him, she keeps her hand inside, palm open, letting him brush her skin. Scorch marks start appearing, and he growls as she starts to wince, but not at the burn, but that she is letting him burn her. She closes her eyes, grimacing deeply yet embracing his pain, knowing he is hurting her, willingly, on purpose, for a reason. Whiter and bluer he becomes, not understanding why his defense, his reasoning isn’t working, why she’s not flustered and scared. That was not how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to take her life.

She looks around, barely a moment’s hesitation. She does the unthinkable, no one has ever done this, she moves closer, he cannot stop her, he cannot stop himself, she is surrounded. He feels her swirl around him, move within him, releasing herself within him. He feels her colors let go, feels some darker reds, almost blacks, but whites brighter than he thought possible, yellows and pinks, flames he wasn’t even aware existed, they fill him up, he devours them. He wants more, he takes all of her, wants all that she is willing to give.

 He suddenly turns blue, weary, shaky, lost, unsure. This is out of his control, he understands, this is painful, he is not supposed to hurt, this is not supposed to hurt him. He cannot do this. He tries to force her out, searing her flesh, pulling it from her body. Still she remains in his blazing tendrils, contorting her face, eyes tightly shut, muscles trembling, a howl escaping her lips. But it is not flesh he takes, he realizes, only light and heat. And when he feels the iridescent flame, so hot he remembers how to feel alive, he knows only that he wants to burn, continue to burn, always burn.

For her.
_

he walked

she paced outside

He walked over the threshold of their house, together. Even though a moment ago, she walked away from him. They argued a lot, he hated it. This time, though, it was his fault, he knew that. He wouldn’t listen to her, threw a plate. He was still carrying her when he stepped over the shattered pieces of black ceramic she had spent months looking for. He kissed her on her forehead, his way to apologize. Words weren’t enough in this case.

She looked up at him, her eyes still clouded with discomfort and confusion. She tapped his shoulder to have him put her down onto the soft carpet, her feet burned from the cold and red. She walked a bit away from him, turning her back to him, her attempt to turn herself away from his charms. Her eyes flew to the broken plate on the ground, noticing that he hadn’t tried to clean it up before coming outside after her. That gave her some satisfaction. Until she remembered why he had yelled at her. Someone else? She frowned, shook her head, angry again.

She looked passed him at the food on the stove in the kitchen. The smell was intoxicating, engrossing, overwhelming. The roast was sitting, still steaming, atop the range, potatoes gleaming in the candlelight that also remained. The wicks were burning down low, red, white, blue reflected off the glass on the kitchen cabinets. The large table was half set, the plates on the wooden surface. She walked over to it, gliding her hand over the smooth oak. It had a bench on one side, two chairs opposite with one on each end also.

“Do you remember when you made this for me?” she asked in her quiet voice. She didn’t expect an answer, really, just wanted to ignite a memory that felt good to her heart.

He nodded slightly, hands stuffed back in his pockets, cheeks blushing, eyes dark. They had clouded over, just as they always did when she brought up his woodworking. The table had been her birthday present.

“You paid such close attention to the detail. Blue prints and everything,” she continued, dragging her hands over the edges where the he had carved their names in cursive. It was so beautiful, he had spent hours carving the script, sometimes dead into the night using candlelight, just like the bright flames that were flickering from the middle of the table. “You spent days, maybe weeks at lumber yards, looking for the perfect oak. Almost matches your eyes.” She looked up at him, smiling slightly. “You wasted almost nothing, didn’t you?”

Again, he nodded his head. He had been slowly walking towards the table, unbeknownst to her. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, moving it along the opposite edge of the table, his fingers covering more space than hers, knowing how much effort he had put into this table for her.

“You saw something similar in a magazine. I remember,” he smiled, in spite of the situation, his voice deep and husky.

“You always do,” she replied, a shy smile snaking its way to the corners of her mouth.

He followed her unhurriedly around the table, eyeing her trembling legs, shivering shoulders. He sighed to himself when she looked up at him, her lip tucked slightly in between her teeth, an innocent look that he almost couldn’t resist. He grinned at her, knowingly.

She giggled, shooting a look towards the door. She tried to play a right, but he saw her eyes, giving her away and ran on her opposite, after her. She laughed as he tackled her down onto the soft carpet, making sure that his body lay underneath hers, protected from hitting the ground. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pinning her arms down to her sides so she couldn’t shove him off. He held her as she lay on top of him, his breathing mimicking hers, his chest deflating as hers inflated. He put his face to her neck, her chin to her shoulders, kissing her soft skin. She turned her head towards him, her lips brushing over his. He moved his hands, swiftly, to her head, and kissed her, so deeply, so tightly. She turned over, facing him, her legs on the sides of his waist. She put her hands to the sides of his head, combing her delicate fingers through his hair. He ran his hands up the sides of her small body, taking her shirt with them. He flipped her over, a swift motion, startling her, making her laugh, the soft carpet against her back, her shoulders, feeling like clouds, her breasts moving like water in the motion.

He buried his face into her chest, humming as he went, goose bumps enveloping her. He pulled off her shorts as he moved downward, keeping one hand spread across her belly, palm pressed gently against it. He stood, awkwardly, lit by the candlelight behind her, the shadows playing against his athletic thighs, enhancing the muscles of his stomach. The shadows covers his face, she couldn’t read his emotions. He knelt beside her, kissing his way up to her mouth, settling on top of her, smiling into her lips.

“It’s getting kind of long,” she murmured, twisting a lock between her index finger and thumb. She leaned into him and kissed he again, a soft wisp of a kiss, just enough to taste his lips.

“How did we get this far? So quickly?” he said, running his hands down her sides, moving them in between her thighs. He leaned into her, causing her to arch, as he moved again, hands on the sides of his face, her mouth on his.

“Trust,” she whispered.

she pushed away from him

it was windy out..

She pushed away from him, red glaring from her eyes, candlelight flickering off her cold skin. You left, she said. You know what you did, what you were doing. Tears flowed from her eyes, salt rivers of heartache and want. Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her again.

He stared at her, the confidence leaving him, helplessness overtaking him. He tried to touch her face again, reaching out with a calloused hand, slightly dirty from not having showered for hours. She shoved his hand away, tension rising from her feet to her shoulders like heat off the desert floor. Heartbreak pulsed through her body as her heart beat faster, not quite sure how to respond.

I didn’t leave, he grumbled, putting his fingers through his hair in a rough manner. He was impatient, startled by the temper that was coming off the woman in front of him.

What would you call it then? You were gone. From me, she snarled, anger tipping into her words. She put her hands to her face, attempting to reign in the fear that threatened to overtake her. She sat on her ottoman, elbows to her knees, soft hair falling around her face.

I had to leave. You knew that going in, he said, softly. He shook his head, frustrated the conversation had taken this turn. She looked at him with such wide, innocent eyes that he almost fell to his knees, she was so beautiful. Cheeks flushed with anger and chill, she looked almost ethereal.

I thought… she began, unable to finish, liquid crystals falling from her eyes in a steady stream now.

You thought what? That I would stop everything I had, my life, because of you? His anger replaced the helplessness, unrightfully so, but he couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it hadn’t been his plan at all.  

No. No. That’s not it, at all. I understand all that. But, I thought that you and I…that we had… She couldn’t finish, just looking at him with all the world resting on her shoulders. You left! she yelled, defeated.

I didn’t leave! I needed time. I’m here, aren’t I? Waiting for you, wasn’t I? he snapped back. She backed away from him, up against the door she had just moments ago come running through, letting her arms fall to her sides, her breathing heavy and aching.

He grimaced as he remembered the wrenching that driving away had done to his heart. But he had to leave her to know what it was that he was leaving, even just for the moment that he did. Didn’t he? He wasn’t so sure now. How could he tell her that, how could she understand that? He looked into her face, watching her heart turn to stone. He was going to lose her, because he never should have left her. He knew that now. Oh, how he knew that now.  

I didn’t know… He began, trying to figure out how to get through to her. I left because…

He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have the courage. He fell to the ground, on his knees, and sat back on his heels. His hands lay open on his thighs, his shoulders slumped forward. He looked up at her, his heart dropping even more when he saw she hadn’t moved from the door. He watched as she turned her back on him, her hand on the brass doorknob, her forehead leaning against it.

You left me. And now. I’m leaving, she said, so quietly he had to lean forward on his thighs to hear her.

Please, he whispered. Please, don’t leave.

Her back still to him, forehead still on the door frame, hand turning the knob, she answered, Why should I stay?

Because I love you.