Death by Ethereality
2-8-06—2-15-06

The clouds, stretched until only wispy tendrils were left, glided along the light blue ocean deliberately, creeping at such a pace as to assure their being seen by the world below. They painted blurred images with every movement, thick enough to be seen yet too thin to cast shadows on the earth they encircled. Below, a red hawk soared, his keen eyes delicately searching out food; he flew on the wind, letting the cool gusts push him along. Farther and farther he traveled from his home, yet, not once did he lose sight of the bare tree, its long branches reaching into the sky like tendrils. A miracle, how this creature could spy his tree amoung all the others, each carved unique yet seemingly the same such majestic beings, stripped of their dignity by the cold, cruel visitor that entered their realm. Try as they might, none escaped winter’s grasp. Though ravaged and bare, they stood together, reaching towards the heavens, asking mercy from God, begging for the Divine to take the winter away.

To say that he liked this place would be both a truth and a lie; he was a young man, dreaming and poetic, with an air of thought about him. His jaw was chiseled from granite, hard and sturdy, and his eyes held a wild fire within their colors. His cheeks were sunken fro teenaged drama and the horrifying experiences that had plagued him. But behind the iron gate there was a picturesque garden, fog-like in its beauty, forever shifting yet always the same garden. Not a person knew of his secret garden, not a person inquired as to his true feelings. That was why he liked the woodlands—he was just as alone there as anywhere else. Yet not even he could pretend that he was truly happy. Every individual, those shy and withdrawn especially, feel remorse towards their seclusion, feel the silencing pain that wrack their heart. Humans were made social, and not one can deny it. And neither could he. Some part of him abhorred the silence, the drama, the heart ache. It was not tat this boy wanted to enter in to a particular relationship with anyone; it was more that he missed the people he could enter in to a relationship with. He missed his muse, he missed the drama, the noises, the faces, everything. But then, as he removed the cigarette from too thin lips, a flutter would catch his eye—sometimes the breeze through the grass, sometimes a leaf falling gently on a stream, dying after a long journey through the trees. And as this inspiration—this new discovery—as it whisked him away to new places, his heart would find itself content. That is why he loved this place.

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He stood as he did every night, staring out into the woods, his lips parting to allow his joint access. After a quick intake of breath he removed the weapon, staring at it thoughtfully. Had he cared that he was killing himself, that with every joint and cigarette he was slowly and deliberately digging his own grave, had he cared he might have rid himself of the ungentlemanly subject, casting it away as if it were Satan himself. Music thrummed through his body, the cure for the drug. He listened intently, his vision warping with every drum beat; with every guitar solo visions would dance through the trees; so many visions, in fact, that the misguided boy became confused, his eyes forcing to focus. The colors melted as his head began to spin, the world tilting upwards.

Few creatures were awake when the boy came to his senses. Only the hawk was aware of the boy’s presence. He watched with bored interest as the human stood, wobbling on his rediscovered legs; the bird’s piercing eyes moved to the spectral figure that awaited below. Her body was transparent, the white gown flowing in the wind. Her hair was just as white, her whole being sending waves of wrong. Her eyes were pools of ice covered water, drawing innocent people in to their deaths. The boy knew all this for he was standing in front of her, staring intently at his vision as she turned, beginning to sway in the wind. A dance ensued—a melodic activity, slow as the night itself. Her body twisted and turned, her bridal dress slipping through trees as she moved away from the boy. He followed, consumed with her: her pleasant smile, her chilling eyes, her graceful beauty as she danced through the woods, beckoning him to her with slight hand movements. He followed, unable to stop himself. Words flew through his mind, words that should have been written down on paper, but instead fell to the back of his mind, quickly forgotten.

As she moved, he found himself moving as well, his body following her body, his hands reaching out to touch hers. She stopped for just a moment, allowing his skin to brush hers, tempting him. He shivered at her cold, clammy skin, but quickly found himself craving more of her touch. Cool wind whipped all around them as they moved, tempting each other with their dances. Suddenly their bodies were touching, skin against skin, their hands groping at each other with deathly speed. The vision smiled, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. She drew the boy closer, closer, her lips pressing against his. His hands fumbled with her dress, but she stopped him, stepping away.

Her long legs stepped into the crystal waters sending ripples across the smooth surface. The boy watched intently, entranced by her actions. He wanted to know everything. He followed her into the water, his hands finding her midriff. Their lips met once more as the girl began her dance again. He moved along with her, not knowing the steps but somehow dancing all the same. Unknowingly he danced further into the water, moving against her body. The stars shown down on their dance, pulling in all the elements around them. Nothing mattered to the boy anymore. All he knew was her and all she wanted was him.

Her lips enveloped his and suddenly they were underwater, still moving to the unheard music. They fell deeper and deeper into the water, still dancing, still making love. But oxygen was soon required and the boy attempted to swim to the surface. Strong arms enveloped him; the vision he had moments ago become infatuated with was now holding him under, keeping him from his life force. He looked down to her and met insanity. He saw through her body to the lake floor below. The water was pricking at his skin now, cutting off his life. The icy tendrils grabbed at him, circling around his neck, reaching into his mouth. The boy held his lips firmly closed, trying to wrench himself free of the girl. She simply smiled ar him, not letting him go, her body still dancing, if it could even be considered possible.

Suddenly water slid into his throat and the boy was unable to stop himself. His body wouldn’t obey him, he could barely think. Everything was much too cold. His mind conjured forth images of his peaceful garden and the world he longed he could return to. He recalled pills and joints and cigarettes. He remembered his little brother and his father, both more than willing to help him with his problems, but neither understanding. He remembered the small church he attended some Sundays and the stories the Pastor there would tell. He remembered meeting the girl, touching her body, dancing under the moon. Everything blurred together. The world began to close in around him as the girl let him go, her bridal dress slipping past him as she swam to the surface. He saw her eyes and then, he saw nothing.

The Wilis breached the surface without a sound. Her eyes lifted to the moon and then met the hawk’s. The two stared for a moment, before the hawk took flight, casting his shadow on the waters around the Wilis before leaving, images of the boy already forgotten.