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@mellastories
i thought this was fitting
A Night in the Field
A moonlit absence danced across the swiveling blades of grass, a September's breeze painted the sky with loose leaves and stray petals. A laughter, a snide snicker, both danced through the air like acrobatics, turning their feet and then jumping onto the ground and crashing. Two boys tumbled down the grassy hill, one knocked onto the other like a bundle of sticks. One laughed, the other feverishly tried to catch his breath. With small utterences they teased each other relentlessly for their rosy faces, one face speckled with peat-brown freckles, the other so littered with acne it could speak in braile. A low buzz simmered across the open, watercolour sky. The hue of navy and lilac purple amidst the grey hue of clouds reigned above like the king on his throne. Starlight lit the sky overhead, constellations held eachothers hands and watched the youth's laughter. Their voices littered the empty field with the noise pollution of their shared humanity. Their sillouttes were interrupted by a dark shadow. It cast onto the two boys like a spotlight, though darkened their bodies like blinds do a sun-facing window. They took their eyes from eachothers youthful faces and up into the outstrech of sky above. The two lay beside each other, classmates, friends, a spare evening. A plane flew ahead, peaking across the sky with it's black propeller only a glimpse, its trail of cloud round and puffy, yet brisk and swift. The two stopped laughing, the grass swayed forward from the sheer speed of the machine overhead. The two boys lay perfectly still, the hairs on their legs stood tall and swayed like the pins of grass beneath them. Prickling their skin and crushed beneath their shared weight. The speckled boy grasped the acne-ridden fiend in a tight grasp. They watched as the black buzzard growled in the distance and took hold of the free air. An emergence of gas, a sprout of black cloud, a rumble in the distance. A firey blaze erupted past the hilly field and into the town ahead. The breeze broke into an orchard of force, an unfolding of iron and will. The kind hand of man tore into the tower, which peaked above the trees, like a bullet through skin. A mushroom cloud unfurled it's body and poured red over the sky and lit the darkening sky into an open blaze. Friends, classmates, now orphans, held each other tightly in eachothers hold. The fiend covered his mouth in horror, their legs tangled together like the dough of a pretzel. The freckled boy held his comrades head and watched the tower's shadow disappear and the trees recoil from the impact like slingshots. Animals scuffled their paws from the birth of fire, the creation of man had open it's womb and released itself upon the small woodland. Squirrels sped down the trees, birds flew out their nests. Their homes, abandoned and destroyed. Prey, predators, casualties. A fox left her babies and scrambled for all she knew. The boys watched the blaze of destruction dance her wretched choreography ahead. It was just like the newspapers would've described. Like the tearing of trees in the ardenne, the pointed noses of tanks holding up high with pride. Like the fall of France, the surrender of Paris. Blitzkrieg, a word the two had not yet exchanged with their tongues, for the war was a channel away, and nowhere near their schoolyard. The schoolyard would remain a memory, the evening, painted by the tomfoolery of the freckled boy and his acne-ridden friend, shall too, be remembered. For today is September seventh, the year is 1940. The Blitz is here.
School days.
âI heard Lucy got together with that SeĂĄn lad from St.Maryâsâ Aoife muttered, exhaling the cigarette smoke down against the ground, discreetly wafting away the smoke with her hand. âFuck off- didnât she just break up with OisĂn?â Said Sophie, taking a puff from her own cigarette. Suddenly, her emerald eyes dashed over to meet mine. I never knew what to do with my own, beady eyes, when they fell into her pooling abyss. âOh- no, no oneâs coming.â I reassured her. The wooden back of the shed felt warm against my back. Early May- just when the Sun would start popping out from behind the clouds. It made the dreadfully long length of our school-skirts all the more miserable. âDâya want a fag too?â Sophie smiled, sticking out her box of Carrollâs at me. The box rattled lightly, tempting me like the Devil. She was tempting me. âNo, thanks. My folks will get all odd at me if they smell it off me.â She shrugged then stuck the box back between her rolled up skirt and her waist. I swallowed and stared. She had tanned yesterday, as said by the faint line of pale skin left across her ribs. I almost wanted to take a paintbrush and fill it in for her. Snapping out of my daze, I looked down at my black shoes. Uncomfortable fuckers, they were. âSure didnât OisĂn cheat on her though?â Aoife blabbered on, and on and on. God, save me. I didnât give a fuck about OisĂn. What I did give a fuck about was getting to our next class with enough time to stop by my locker. âUh, lads I think we might haveâta hurry up a little. Bells gonna go.â Both girls put out their cigarettes. Both stomped them out on the floor, and yet only one locked arms with me. Of course, Sophie. âWeâll chat to ya later, alright? We have Ms.OâBrien for English, so. We haveâta go. See ya Aoife.â âOkay ya, go, sheâs a mighty cunt.â I couldnât help but giggle. Sophie lifted her chin and like a gazelle, stuck her leg forward and spun us both âround. By now I had learned to stay in near perfect sync with her.
âDid we have homework?â Sophie had crept up behind me, her apple scent crawling across my shoulder like a centipede. My hand jittered in the midst of its action and I glanced back at her. âYes Sophie. Ms.OâBrien gives us homework every class-â âOh shit seriously- ?? I wasnât in do you think sheâd give me a demeri-â Her lips parted, eyes widened. As though those bulging eyes of her could not get any more obnoxious, or her freckled face any more of a spectacle. âDonât.â I sighed and shoveled a set of papers out of my locker. âIt was short, I did yours for you. Hopefully she doesnât recognize my handwriting- I tried making it like yours a bit.â âOh. How did you-â â âCause ya never remember. Anything. I should start being paid as your secretary.â Her hand stretched forward, her fingers glided atop of mine for just a second. Her nails were painted too. Primrose yellow, the shape- almond. Though the index was more like a coffin than an almond, really. A cross dangled atop her collarbone, her shirt unbuttoned just by two. âThank you, girl. I donât know what Iâd ever do without ya.â Her lips curled into a soft, slender smile, a stray brown hair sat across her cheek. The sun swept across her perfect skin like a heatwave. â..itâs nothing.â She clutched the humble stack of two A4 sheets to her chest in one hand, and the worn strap of her schoolbag in the other. Sometimes I yearned to just stand and absorb her as though she were light, and I was just a humble chloroplast. My foot tapped against hers as I took a step forward. The classroom responded with an echo of my boot. Despite that, it was perfectly still, silent. Almost private, if not for the sound of the other girls in room 6. Sophie stepped forward, too, her apple perfume impossibly suffocating. Upon closer inspection.. It looked like her shirt was not two buttons open, but three. I could almost see the mole on her- The bell rang loud and shrill. âOh shit. We better go, Iâll save your seat!â She stepped back, turned her back to me and darted forward, her black bag bounced as she walked then disappeared past the door. I took a deep breath then slammed my locker shut.Â