Author: ReLies PM
Occasionally, I will try to write stories that lack dialogue. Since I often base my pieces entirely on dialogue, this is a challenge; it forces you to become more descriptive, and develop the setting thoroughly. This short story was the product of such an experiment. His Siren is a single scene in the life of a girl and a boy. The rest is left to the reader's imagination.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Suspense - Words: 535 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 08-02-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3047183
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
She had the kind of beauty that never required makeup – a long, confident face and hair that fell perfectly no matter what she did to it. Still fully clothed in jeans and an obscure hipster-style band t-shirt, she stood in the lake and ran her hands through her hair, grinning wildly. She was the picture of insane perfection.
The boy laughed, watching her from the grassy slope that fell easily into the curve of the shoreline. She called to him, and although the words were lost in the cool but humid night, he knew she was begging him to join. The air was heavy with the anticipation of rain, and to escape the oppressiveness that followed him, he slid into the water. She splashed him as the first drops of rain began to fall, wondering at the small, pure drops as they were assimilated by the expanse of water they gravitated towards. A stray tendril of wind breathed life into the falling projectiles, making them dance before their performance was ended.
She dove underwater and resurfaced beside the boy, her t-shirt clinging to her skin like guilt. He followed suit, and tackled her as they both collapsed into the ripples. Pebbles rounded by time shook with thunder as they floated back to the surface, lackadaisically and without worry.
The stars were obscured by the purple-black clouds, but as they shifted, the white moon shone through, illuminating the water with an unearthly glow. Rain played on the surface, shooting ripples across the lake and wreaking havoc with the surface tension. The girl and the boy laid still in silent appreciation of each other, of the sky, and of the water.
She swam out to the middle of the lake, the boy at her heels. There, neither of them could touch the bottom, no matter how deep they dove. No one knew how deep the lake there went, and no one wanted to find out. Sometimes things were better left alone and undisturbed, like the fragile balance between the water and the sky, the boy and the girl.
With skill marked by careful practice, she broke the balance.
She beckoned to him, and challenged him. They dove for the bottom, furious in competition that had not existed before. Lightning crackled in the air, but they were too deep to see it. Thunder boomed its warning, but they were too far under to hear it.
Her body went limp as the boy gave up and swam for the surface. He looked back and saw her unconscious face illuminated by the pale underwater glow, and grabbed her hand. Pulling at the insubstantial water, he fought to reach the surface, but her body dragged him down. His lungs burned. Her lungs rested. He gave up, and found the bottom at last.
The girl pried his still-warm hand from her wrist and swam expertly to the top, gasping for breath. Her face was marred by a smile.
She reached the craggy shore and pried her cell phone from the reaching grass. She dialed, spoke, and then threw the object into the lake, where the furious riptide dragged it down.
Then, and only then, did she run.