I had a dream
In it was a war machine, with six piston legs, spindly and taller than any man. The legs connected to a bulbous body, bristling with weapon systems, armored well and roughly representing the shape and size of a beetle. The driver was connected in a meshed body suit, interconnected to all points within the beast, and lifted from a prone position into the belly the tank. You would think such a device would be slow and impractical. This one wasn’t. It was fast, fierce and above all, scary as fucking shit.
The driver was soldier first, a gentleman last, and never thought he would find himself in the circumstances that he did. He met her at a presentation for the leader of his country, a formal event showcasing the very war machine he was an expert at operating. He thought he was hitting on a common girl, but she was not common, and not very impressed with him at all.
She was the daughter of sister state, off the shore, in the city that mirrored his own. A rising triumph of light and wonder above the waves, a city defying the very water it stood upon, an Atlantis in every right. Her ears were pointed, but she had been cloaked, so he did not know. He only noticed the way she moved. Feline in her grace, majestic, without wasted motion or misjudgement. He loved her. She returned his love tenfold.
And then… A battle was fought.
He was a war hero.
Her city was lost. She turned out to be the sole survivor. They loved each other in a manner that can only exist in books. He was devoted. She always looked to the shore.
She mourned her city. Walking on the shores, she saw the few spires of rubble of all that remained of her home, the sun setting the ocean alight with its setting rays, fires forever burning in the rubble of the lost city. She thought she could still see the southern gate… her favorite, decorated in a manner that she appreciated above all the other arts of her homeland. She could still see it in her mind. And she thought she saw it for real out on the waves, beckoning to her.
She entered the ocean up to her calves, the surf pulling on her dress, the spray soaking her front, but she paid it no mind. The city beckoned to her. The ghosts of her entire cultured people called to her. Watching in horror, her lover, the warrior, standing on the beach immobile and frightened, saw his wife enter the waves. He saw a great ephemeral hand take her own and walk her into the depths. He saw her form illuminated beneath the waves, the sea glowed with a golden light. But he could do nothing. He could not move forward. Only down. He fell to his knees and saw the sea beckon him as well. He tried to get up. He wanted to follow her.
But he was a coward after all. Not a hero.
And the sea went dark.
He visited that very spot where he fell to his knees grieving the inexplicable loss of his wife, his life a dark mirror representation of what it should been. Every night, we walked back to the same spot and looked out to sea. Hoping for the waters to glow bright, every wave a crest of golden sun… but they never changed. They stayed dark, reflecting only the moon and stars.
No comments yet.