A sign in a dark sky
Jane Nash: Micro-Story ‘A sign in a dark sky’
At the beginnings of our time, we watched shooting stars over the blackened palm trees beneath the dark blue velvet, wrapped around the moon.
Stars upon stars upon shooting stars. We hid our wishes from each other lest they be jinxed and not eventuate.
It’s strange to place a wish, a hope upon a termination, the last vestige of a dying star. When did it come to represent positive thinking instead of portents of doom? Is hope a waste of time, a lie or simply an admission of emptiness.
Never-the-less we wished. I did anyway. I assume he did. If not, shame on him for wasting an opportunity to convert a lie into creative projection, whatever that’s worth.
There was no sand in the cuffs of my jeans, no water upon my feet. The cool, hard coral sliced its way into my open palm as I placed my hand down to push me up. My tongue tasted the rusted, steel edge fresh blood conveys.
The moon dripped light from its fabric hammock. He kissed the smudge upon my lips.
What else was there to see; cosmic tails flaring across our tropical sky or earthly paint of life’s reminder to breathe?
