These boys; they were two in a million, two in a billion, two in a trillion.
The others, they moved around them like fireflies at dusk,
But they, they, wavered.
A simple, burning, dangerous flame.
And flames are destined to go out where they stand.
Flames are always turning, always dancing,
Always running, never getting anywhere.
Their story was made up of memories snatched greedily in an ever-moving, ever-changing, ever-fighting world.
Their story was silvery shimmers in a pale blue pool, silver shapes in a darkened night, silver bodies under the full white moonlight.
Shiny black hair dusted around his face.
His soft sandy hair was brushed into place.
Marshmallows had been roasted on the snapped branches of trees, and ashes inhaled in the foggy field.
In the long waving grass, the Serpent crawled to his knees.
The sweet smoke burned his eyes.
Green tears glittered, like the emeralds in the hourglass of the Great Hall,
Awash in the campfire light.
And just like fire, his yellow sparks sometimes escaped
That was his Fate.
He scrunched his grey eyes up painfully tight, locked down those shutters, pulled the curtains in fright.
In his loneliness, he saw sparkles like fireworks and imagined fairy dust against the soot.
But the enemy was advancing,
And he was a Knight.
Flaming oranges, buttercup yellows and ruby reds flicker and flare
On burnt brown wooden logs and scorched newspaper.
A face screams silently at the moon.
The fire lovingly licks her anguish away
Much too soon.
In the morning, crumbling charcoal will have set,
Painting their dark mark upon the soil.
They were there, it said.
They were there.
They curled around each other; once strangers, then friends.
Now they were nameless, but infinite.
Together until the end?
I think so.
Their images flickered in the blaze.
Ghosts fading through walls,
Sinking just as quickly back into the Veil.
And like rusted wild foxes,
Or fierce wolves, you could say,
They slunk past in the night.
Never to stop.
Never to stay.
This little circle was their hope, their light at the end of their long and weary tunnel.
Their familial sphere was a torch for the fear.
People were swallowed up into darkness as soon as they strayed.
Stay here. Stay near.
Always stay near.
For this time, they clambered down craggy trails in the heart of forest green, and listened to the distant roar of the waves crashing into the rock pools and the eerie murky caves. They watched the stars fighting too, patterns twirling in the sky.
Mars was bright that night.
A brush on shaven jaw and arms tight around his hard chest.
The feel of his rough cheek and lips like rain against red.
He tasted like limes and the coolness of night.
He tasted like rum and the warmth of bitter spice.
A solemn kiss beside a bonfire,
Rough, real, don’t-let-me-go hands.
Not a word ever whispered,
Don’t you dare break this spell.