So today, I was feeling kinda down because of... stuff. And so instead of moping I decided to rewrite one of my old pieces, after not writing anything... in a year? So, enjoy! All comments/critiques are appreciated. I actually rewrote it because it had serious flaws before, so want to know if you feel like it's good/ if it works.
His feet kept slipping on mud as he made his way towards the glade. His toes kept sinking in and the grass gripped his feet like a lover’s gaze. Which was funny, since he was there to answer his true lover’s call.
So he took his place among the roots of the crooked oak. He tried to find one suitable for sitting on, but the pesky moss had covered all of the bark up to four feet from the ground. Normally, this would’ve formed a velvet seat upon the roots. But tonight the moss was soaked through, and he shuddered to think of the horrors that would creep out if he touched it.
The sky had finally started to clear tonight, after weeks of rain. But it still wasn’t enough for the moonlight to shine through the gloom. The pitter-patter of rain hadn’t been heard since sunset, but the glade had yet to wake for the night. He tried to fill the silence by tapping his foot, but was soon revoked by the splurging of mud. After a while he tried drumming his fingers on the bark of the oak. But as soon as they brushed the soft down, his hand froze. He could almost see little bodies writhing on the slick, swampy bark. He shuffled away at once, until he was three feet from the nearest root.
Just then, a flowery breeze hit his nostrils from the west. ‘Not long now,’ he whispered, in a voice almost too low for himself to hear. The glimmering lights in the western sky were growing clearer by the minute and the scarlet glow behind them was darkening. He could faintly make out the screech of tire on wet asphalt, but the silence of the glade was far louder. ‘Not long,’ he exhaled, and let out a stretched sigh.
And it wasn’t long before the crickets started chirping across the glade. After that came the hoots, like deep and melancholy trumpets announcing the night. Specks of light seemed to crawl out from behind the oak as the fireflies began their dance. He looked up in time to see the moon drift out from the clouds. Her glow seemed to shroud him alone amidst the celebration.
He averted his eyes, unable to stare at the haunting silver beauty for too long. But all the puddles in the glade were shimmering, and the mud was turning silver around him. The owls had stopped hooting a while back, but the fireflies still danced skirting the edge of the moonlight. He couldn’t help but smile at this sight, and as he stretched his lips he tasted sweet salt on them. His eyes had let out a few drops of happiness.
But then it clicked back into his mind; the grin faltered and his eyes blinked dryly. The lights of the General Hospital two blocks away were visible from where he stood. If he counted carefully he’s be able to make out the Operating Theatre on the fourth floor. But counting… was just too hard these days.
He slowly drew out the gun from his back pocket, stopping to admire the dazzling reflection of the moon on its body. He had polished it for two hours this morning, so that he would see her face in his final moment. It had been heavy then, but now it seemed to be made of moonbeams. The fireflies broke their dance to take a look at it, and three settled on its barrel. The glowing metal seemed to have mesmerized them, as it was a holy relic fallen from the Moon.
He’d promised, long ago, that he’d never forget. But remembering it all… was just too hard these days. He kept forgetting just how many memories they’d shared. He looked up, and his eyes met hers. It was another apparition, of course; coming to haunt him for forgetting. But he was glad to see her. He’d forgotten how her blonde hair perfectly framed her face. He’d forgotten how her deep blue eyes always seemed to have waves crashing inside them. He’d forgotten how she’d laughed, one day in April, when they’d held hands at that very spot.
‘It’s… it’s too draining to remember it all, again and again after forgetting,’ he muttered weakly. Excuses. She used to never let him get away with any; always pushing him towards his best. But not relying on his lame excuses… was just too hard these days.
He sighed, and tightened his grip on his gun made of moonbeams. He carefully adjusted it till her haunting face was reflected right into his eyes. That pointed the muzzle right at his heart. He smiled one last time, drew the gun back and pulled the trigger.
The bang startled the crickets and woke the owls, and a chaos of screeching and chirping ensued. But the fireflies paid no heed and resumed their dance, the glimmering lights drifting through the wind above a pool of radiant red blood.
