Drifting lovers type thing - Edit

The two lovers stared into each other’s eyes, endlessly. They took no notice of the clouds, endless shapes of wonder, that past behind the others head. Nor did they pay any attention to the tangled lonely black that lay below them. One hand held the others, gently, tightly and close, the fingers forming knots no one else knew or had every known. The other hand held the rope that went to the pulleys that held them aloft; they cared nothing for the responsibility of that hand, holding the other up was no chore. They were together after all.

            One saw something in the darkness far below their feet. It was shiny and the smell of it wafted up. It smelt sweet and homely, like flowers in the garden. The allure of the object was too much to bear and one of the lovers became entranced. Still without a care for the responsibility of the hand that held them and a promise that there was nothing to worry about the distracted lover loosed their grip on the rope.  The obsessed descended towards the black, “just a look” they promised again.

“Just a look”.

            Of course as one descended the other rose. Up and up they went, ever higher. Panic set in but they waited. Patiently. They trusted the other to bring them together again, back to their safe platform where not even the clouds caught their eye. But up and up they went all the same and as the air thinned it became harder to breathe, impossible to look down without fainting, the distance between them too far for words. The panic was now unbearable and the trust between them all but gone. The lover, suspended too high, began to pull at the rope, as hard as they could, until both stopped. 

            The descending lover stopped close to the object that consumed them with intrigue, close enough to touch it with desperate fingertips. So close that the smell filled the air entirely and blinded their nose from the rancid smell of the black. The light that shone from it was blinding.  But they just couldn’t get a grip on it; just enough to pull it to them is all they wanted… needed. Frustrated, they took a final look up at the lover once so close, now almost far away to see, and without a final thought to the secret knots their hands once knew, the rope was cut.

            The one suspended, panicked, waiting impatiently fell with a sudden lurch. Their heart seemed to stop and they fell far, much further than the other, and hitting the floor hurt. And so one found that the object that called to them was nothing but an empty jar, filled with scents and glitter. The other just lay where they fell, mishandled, too bruised and broken to move. Both were slowly consumed by the blackness, once too far away to care for.

            

Author's Note

I don't like to edit too much when I first write, it gets contrived that way but I didn't like the first one, I wanted to keep it gender neutral but it didn't work well before. So I've edited separately, would be good to know if it's any better.

Reviews

[Octavia]

Nice images here. The extended metaphor works well here. I very much enjoyed reading this and very much felt the pain and fear of the dropped lover. Really lovely little short.

[Lefty78]

Thanks a lot! Anything to improve on?

[Octavia]

Honestly, it depends on what you want to do with this. In the current form, it works very well as is. I'm not sure I would mess about with something so clearly and cleanly visualized. However, if you wanted to expand on it, a little more description of the lovers, what they look like who they are, might make this even more compelling.