Open your legs

I won’t look

I won’t tell.

Close your eyes,

I’ll close mine

I can follow the smell

Heaven scent

So intent

Softly move your hands slowly

Slowly down

Touch your skin

Feel my breathe

Now begin.

With your fingers,

My lips,

Feel my kiss,

You’re so wet

See that look on your face

I will never forget

Feel my hands

Taste my kiss

Taste yourself on my lips

I won’t tell

I won’t say

How you acted today

Just do what your mind begs

Slowly

Open your legs.

When the Lady Arlene asked me to take a letter to the Crown Prince of Darland, I thought it would be a simple task.

Granted, she did keep her apartment in the tallest tower of the castle on the highest peak in the land, and his father’s palace was at the base of the distant hills. What I hadn’t counted on was his immediate reply, which required an answer from her post-haste.

That was three days ago.

I spurred my horse - the fourth I had exhausted since this debacle began - to even greater speed. I had to get this latest dispatch to the Lady with all haste; the Prince was waiting anxiously on her reply to his new communique, which was safely tucked in my saddlebag. It read:

“I don’t know. What do YOU want to do after we meet for dinner?”

© 2018 - dustygrein

#flash #flashfiction #makemesmile #amwriting

You know deep down, that whether you like it or not, you will always belong to the sea. You are even standing there now, letting the waves tickle your toes. You sigh, close your eyes, and smile. It all comes rushing back; submerging your head underwater and listening to the peaceful silence beneath it, hearing the waves roar and crash upon the shore, a salty scent hanging in the humid, yet windy air. There is noise in the background; people’s happy outcries, seagulls jeering from above, your own footsteps crushing the damp sand. Thousands of sights and sounds and smells, happening one moment, then gone in the blink of an eye.

You exhale, open your eyes, and are drawn back to the present. The waves are still brushing against your feet, and your toes squirm against the cold water as you remember your mother’s words: “You are a daughter of the sea. You can never escape it. It is who you are, and it is how you will find yourself.” The sun beams brightly onto your face, making you squint whilst you look at the beauty around you. You step back slightly, sinking your feet into the soaked sand, separating yourself and the water.

No, you think, the sea is no longer a part of you. Still, it somehow pains you to disconnect yourself from it. It hurts you even more to think of all you experienced in the course of two years. It was many years ago, but you still find it sneaking up on you at times. It seems to surprise you that the world could be so cruel, but then, you realize, it has always been so. Death is something you have little experience with, and the death of your grandparents had more of an effect on your father than you.

That’s where it all began, you remind yourself. They passed on, quickly, one after the other, like two birds flying away together. You can handle the grief, but it is too much for him. The memories destroy him. He crushes faster than the sand grains beneath your feet. He falls, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you and your mother know that he is lost in a deep abyss, one only he can climb out of.

Then, you remember, he gets the job offer. You are blinded by the spark of simultaneous joy and madness that glimmers in his eye as he tells you about it. You fake excitement and enthusiasm and sense your mother doing the same. It is the first time he has been this happy about something in months. You and your mother wave when he leaves, for the job is an ocean away, and you listen to his promises to call every day and promise to do so as well. You know your life will never be the same.

Your mother, you recall, was truly floundering. It was far from simple to carry the weight of the world on her own two shoulders. Her daughter belongs to the sea, but she belongs to the wind. She flies from place to place, whooshing everywhere she goes, just so she can do everything quickly, wasting as little time as possible. She scoffs at those who fritter, and she laughs when you do too, or sometimes, she scolds. It causes arguments, heated debates that end in cold silences.

But even so, you smile gently, you adapted. You persevered and fought, you smiled and sobbed, you worked hard and slacked off, you did everything a human being could possibly do in the course of two years and here you are now: back at the sea, watching the results unfold. You survived.

You laugh at your own fears and ignore the voice telling you not to do it; you step into the sea, wading in knee-deep. You thread your fingers through the saltwater and make a fist as though to clutch it. You inhale the air around you, for nothing could ever be as tranquil as this moment, and you submerge, just as you have done thousands of times before. You open your eyes, disregarding the sting that comes with it, and look around you. The water is a light turquoise, though slightly murky, so you try to imagine what it would look like with bright, vivid sea creatures.

You close your eyes and open them again quickly, and they surround you. They are blue with white stripes, bright orange, yellow and black; your imagination is working wonders just to give you this moment. Still, even the most brilliant of imaginations cannot escape reality, so you rise up, withdrawing yourself from the life your mind has created for you, and gasp heavily as air returns to your lungs.

“Oh, my God! You - are you okay?!” Someone yells, panic dripping from their deep voice. You turn around and see him, a tall, young man who you can hardly register through your blurry eyesight; you left your glasses on the shore.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You dash back onto the shore, feeling the dry sand start to cover your wet feet.

“Do have a habit of sitting underwater for two minutes straight?” The boy asks. “I literally thought you were drowning.” You study him before answering; he seems somewhat amused by your quirks and has a certain air about him that you can only describe as ‘mischievous.’

“No, but my mother always says that I’m a daughter of the sea,” you reply with a smile. You can’t quite place it; but there is something familiar about this boy, a sense of comfort and security that you haven’t felt in a long time. As cliche as it sounds, he reminds you of home.

“Is that so?” He asks grinningly. “Mine always says I’m made of fire.”

You become friends with this boy, this boy who thought you were drowning and nearly had a heart attack because of it. Truthfully, you admit, you were drowning, just not literally. You were drowning in regret and fear, and he somehow seemed to pluck you up like a daisy and guide you away from it without even trying.

You soon learned that his mother was right; he was made of fire. His entire soul roared with flames, his eyes burst with sparks, and his passions were just as fiery as he was. It made sense that you diffused him at times, being made of water yourself, and it also made sense that he livened you, making you expressive about matters you hadn’t been aware of before.

One day, several years later, you return to the sea. You take a deep breath, the salty air flowing through your hair, and step forward into the water. You sigh, close your eyes, and smile. It all comes rushing back; this time it is him you think of, along your parents. This time, instead of fearing the ocean, you thank it. For without it, how else would you have had that fateful conversation with your soulmate, the living, breathing, person who has shown you what it means to love another with all your heart? You remember your mother’s words: “You are a daughter of the sea. You can never escape it. It is who you are, and it is how you will find yourself.” You open your eyes.

She was right, you conclude. You met due to a miscommunication that led to a simple conversation. Still, you found him, and in finding him, you found yourself.

"Do you?"

"I don't know." they pause, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I understand."

"What if I get to know you better?"

"Perhaps then, this will work out."

"Alright then, hometown?"

"You already know that, but Denver, Colorado. You?"

"Ceyenne, Wyoming. Your turn."

"Birthday?"

"December 29th."

"Feburary 1st."

"Favorite movie?"

"Kingsman or Thor: Ragnarok."

"Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back."

"Why do you want to do this?"

"I, I can't take it anymore. The noise, the unwanted attention, it's too much."

"I can offer you a deal."

"What is it?"

"You don't have to worry about grades, work, any of that. You'll be settled with a nice lump of cash and a home somewhere to live out the rest of your life."

"What's my part?"

"You have to spend the rest of your life with me."

"Deal."