The Lake and the Stars

A short story about love and lakes and stars.

    The smell of the woods wafts through the air, the scent of fresh soil and pine trees filling your head with the scents of the forest. Breathe in, sigh, hear his footsteps up ahead, the leaves crunching under his feet. He looks back, sky blue eyes twinkling in child-like delight. They are the most breathtaking eyes. Wish for eyes like his. Wish for him. Shut up, shut up. He calls out.

    “Hurry up! We’re almost there,” he bounds ahead. Grin, force a smile. It’s cold, bitter cold, the kind of cold of late autumn nights. He’s like a late night autumn day. Pretty and freezing. Shut up. Focus on following him. Past taller trees, bigger rocks, mossy soil. It’s the same. Where is he going? It’s too late for this. Wish for home, hot chocolate, and a book. A cat curled up on your lap.

    Doubt. Follow him blindly. His hair is like a sheep; soft, and blonde. Watch the little lamb bound through the trees, happy to be out of his pen. Black sheep. Why are you here?

    Rub your hands together. It’s so cold, so angrily cold you think you can’t stand it. Just a little more. A little further. Why am I here? Snap a twig, flinch back. He turns around.

    “A little further,” he assures. A little further, a little longer, a little faster, a little harder. Rub your hands together. Watch his breath fog up. It mingles with yours. Shut up.

    “Here,” he says, stopped at a cliffside. The cool stone of the cliff chills to the bone, but the view warms straight to the core. It overlooks the lake. Gasp. The stars hang high in the sky like lanterns. The lake speckles the lake with shimmers of the star's reflections, filling the black of the murky lake.

    “Beautiful, breath-taking,” stutter. Doubt. He grins. His smile is like the white crescent moon. If he is the sky, your heart is like a great, black, murky, lake. Shut up. Shut up. Reflections of stars on the surface, seaweed and mud underneath. Shut. Up.

    He sits. Sit next to him. He talks about old times. Better times. Please don’t mention the embarrassing thing. He mentions it. Laugh, face flushing red. It is so cold, so terribly cold.

     "Do you like it?“ He looks with his star eyes. Look away.

      "Absolutely,” Be more enthusiastic. Smile wider. Wish your heart was on fire, instead of this mind-numbing chill. He smiles, takes your hand. Blush, look away. Shut up. Calm down. It’s so cold.

    “You’ll come back with me tomorrow, right?” he leans in closer, his star eyes reflecting off of your murky blackness. Leave. Go inside. Be warm. Be happy.

    “Of course,” Smile. Come back tomorrow. Be cold, don’t be alone. Stars touch the waters and he kisses you, sending flames down your back. Try not to think that stars are already dead when you see them shine, and lakes are only mirrors with seaweed for a heart.

    Go Inside. Doubt. Or… Keep warm in the brilliance of an already dead star. Keep safe in the reflections of a deep, deep lake.

    Choose the latter. Repeat cycle.

Author's Note

Anything you see, notice, and general feelings about the story.

Reviews

[Hatter]

I don't see any grammatical errors. I love it though its very beautiful and the descriptions are amazing.