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11-20-2013, 01:08 PM
"Afraid of decision, I buried my finer feelings in the depths of my heart and they died there."
A shadow among shadows caught his eye.
He'd been wandering again – it was all he ever did. He might as well have been a ghost himself. He'd considered that option before, what seemed like a lifetime ago (at least, before his life had started mattering). Gabriel remembered well the cliff-edge, remembered the crash and hush of the waves below. He hadn't thought about how poetic it would be, how tragic – he didn't think in those ways. But it would have been, would have mirrored his father's death perfectly.
That was why he'd been there, on that cliff edge – he'd met his father's ghost. Gabriel was no Hamlet. But when it came to it, when the moment arrived and swept past, he remained. It was the stars that saved him, in a way, and wasn't that funny? It had been the first time, and certainly not the last.
Anyway, he was no stranger to the dead. Maybe here it was odd; it wasn't, not where he'd come from.
At first he felt a chill, watching the shape weave beyond the trees. It seemed to leave behind no sound at all. His own heart, in turn, began racing in his ribcage, as if to remind him how very alive he was; by the time summer's murderous humidity had returned, he'd begun to follow her. He made no attempt to conceal himself, knowing it was futile, but she didn't seem to notice him. Perhaps she just didn't care.
It wasn't long, only a hundred yards or so, before she stepped into the clearing and settled in the grass. Once she was in the sunlight, he became more sure. He couldn't have said what the real identifier was; a scent, perhaps, or lack of one, or maybe the way she seemed to shimmer, to be made of shadow and dust, or the wound in her side that he seemed to catch momentary impressions of, and nothing more. Maybe it was just instinct. Whichever it was, he walked up to her, cautious, even submissive.
“Please,” he said softly, but he couldn't have said why.
He'd been wandering again – it was all he ever did. He might as well have been a ghost himself. He'd considered that option before, what seemed like a lifetime ago (at least, before his life had started mattering). Gabriel remembered well the cliff-edge, remembered the crash and hush of the waves below. He hadn't thought about how poetic it would be, how tragic – he didn't think in those ways. But it would have been, would have mirrored his father's death perfectly.
That was why he'd been there, on that cliff edge – he'd met his father's ghost. Gabriel was no Hamlet. But when it came to it, when the moment arrived and swept past, he remained. It was the stars that saved him, in a way, and wasn't that funny? It had been the first time, and certainly not the last.
Anyway, he was no stranger to the dead. Maybe here it was odd; it wasn't, not where he'd come from.
At first he felt a chill, watching the shape weave beyond the trees. It seemed to leave behind no sound at all. His own heart, in turn, began racing in his ribcage, as if to remind him how very alive he was; by the time summer's murderous humidity had returned, he'd begun to follow her. He made no attempt to conceal himself, knowing it was futile, but she didn't seem to notice him. Perhaps she just didn't care.
It wasn't long, only a hundred yards or so, before she stepped into the clearing and settled in the grass. Once she was in the sunlight, he became more sure. He couldn't have said what the real identifier was; a scent, perhaps, or lack of one, or maybe the way she seemed to shimmer, to be made of shadow and dust, or the wound in her side that he seemed to catch momentary impressions of, and nothing more. Maybe it was just instinct. Whichever it was, he walked up to her, cautious, even submissive.
“Please,” he said softly, but he couldn't have said why.
gabriel
