notes: I honestly have no idea where this came from, but… oh well, r&r

My Purple Sun

"What do you think truth is?"

"That's easy, it's what you can see."

A small stream of water trickled down the mountain into a smallish pool.  They sat on a flat rock, backpacks lying to the side along with empty water bottles that would be picked up later.  The day was cool and a breeze kept them quite comfortable.

"What happens when you close your eyes?"

She looked at him, challenging, inquisitive.

He pulled a box of cigarettes and a lighter out of his shirt pocket and looked at them for a moment before pulling out a cigarette, lighting it, and then tossing both the box and the lighter onto his backpack.  "Nothing," he said, taking a long drag, "Because when you open your eyes everything is still the same."

She frowned at him and glared lightly before turning her head away.  "Those'll kill you one day, you do know that, right?"

"Haven't done me in yet," he replied shrugging. 

"Mmm," she assented, nodding.  "But in ten years or so we'll both be around thirty.  I'll look that age—and you'll look fifty."

"Good." He smiled, smugly, "Then I'll get cheaper movie-ticket prices and bus fares."

"You'll also be hacking your lungs up miserably," she muttered.

"As long as I die before Alzheimers hits I'll be happy," he smirked and exhaled a puff of smoke.

She sighed and leaned back, putting her weight on her hands and staring at the waterfall.  "How do you know?" she asked after a few moments.

"What?  That I'll be happy if I die before Alzheimers?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, lightly, "I meant how do you know the world is the same when you open your eyes?  Or that it stays the same when your eyes close?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, flicking ash from his cigarette.

"I mean how do you know that when you blink the sun doesn't turn purple?"

"That's ridiculous!" he said, laughing.  "You're hilarious, you know that, right?"

"Why is it ridiculous?  Because you say so?  Because you can't see the purple?  What if you believed it was purple, would it be purple then?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing as she focused on him.

"Of course not.  What does belief have to with anything?" 

"Nothing except everything," she said, pushing off her arms and leaning forward again.  "If Moses hadn't believed in the Lord's power would Egypt have suffered through the ten plagues?"

"Never happened," he said, flippantly.  "Bible stories.  I don't believe in them and neither do you, because they don't exist."

"Maybe they don't exist because we don't believe in them," she replied, resting her chin on the palms of her hands.

"You," he declared, smashing the tip of his cigarette against the rock.  "Make absolutely no sense."

"Does anything anymore?" she tilted her head a bit to the right, "Don't litter," she added when she saw him about to flick the remnants of his cigarette into a nearby bush.

He sighed and unzipped his bag.  "Make me carry rubbish," he grumbled as he shoved the butt into one of the emptier pockets.  He paused for a moment, before asking, tentatively, "You're not still… reeling… over Greg, are you?  Because you said you were over him and I thought—"

"No," she replied, "Nothing like that… It was a long time ago and we were about to break up anyway… besides, I thought we came up here to avoid things like that."

"Yes, but it was so sudden, and you never talked about it—"
"What do you want me to say Ted!" she snapped, suddenly, "That I wish it had been you in that car instead of him?  Because I won't say it, you know, I won't."

"I know," he agreed, keeping his voice carefully calm and controlled, "I don't want you to."

"Then what?" she asked, agitatedly.

"I want you to talk to me," he replied, easily, placing his hand on hers.  "I want you to trust me."
"I do," she insisted, "And we were talking perfectly well before—"

"I know that," he interrupted, shaking his head, "But you never told anyone exactly what happened that night and no matter what you say you haven't been the same since.  It's been two years, Letta, don't you think it's about time you opened up a bit?  And don't say you are open," he added, seeing her about to open her mouth, "because you're not.  Don't think I don't know you better than you know yourself," the wry smirk was back, and she couldn't do anything except lean away from him.

They sat that way for a few minutes, keeping their slight distance.  He waited patiently for her to speak, she wished he'd go away.

"My ring," she said finally.

"Your what?" he asked, momentarily surprised at the sound of her voice.

"It was too big," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.  "When we were driving—he was driving—it fell off and he unbuckled his seatbelt—"

"What ring?"
"My engagement ring—he didn't know my exact finger size, who does?  And he unbuckled his seatbelt and then that car turned the corner and he couldn't see…" she shut her eyes tightly.  "My fault."
"You told everyone you'd been having an argument," he stated, after a while. 

"Arguments sound much more plausible than oversized engagement rings, don't you think?" she said dryly.  "Besides, newspapers would've liked it more if they knew we'd just been engaged, that I'm sure of.  Arguing couples are always getting into trouble, but newly engaged couples?  Not so much."

"You were going to marry him."

"That would've been the idea."

He looked at her, eyes searching for something.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you were the type of person that needed to know every single insignificant detail," she replied, flippantly. 

"Why did you bring me up here with you?"

She inspected her nails, carefully, before tilting her head back attempting to catch the sound of a bird twittering somewhere in the distance.  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  "I didn't think you were the type of person to ask questions like this," she murmured, "And I never figured you for the type to talk about private things."

"I'm not," he said.

"Mmm," she opened her eyes and stood up, pushing herself off the rock.  "I'm going to climb that mountain," she announced happily.

"No you're not, the rocks are too slippery," he said, reaching for her arm so he could pull her back, "And I don't think you're in your right mind."

"Oh, of course I am," she replied, giggling, as she darted out of his reach.  "Besides," she reasoned, "If I get stuck you can always call a helicopter to bring me back down."

"Letta…"

She waded through the shallow pool and over to the slippery rock face, finding hand and footholds, she began to climb slowly.

"Letta…" he repeated, cautiously.

"Oh, I'm just going up to that outcropping there, I don't know what you're so worried about," she shouted, as she ascended steadily.

"Letta…"

She ignored him, and after a few moments, pulled herself up onto the outcropping, testing her weight carefully before standing on it.  "This feels great!" she shouted down, merrily.

"You'll fall!" he sounded slightly hysterical as he waded into the pond and shouted up at her.  "Letta, come down now before you slip!  No, better yet, stay up there—I'll call someone—"

"Do you believe in wishes?" she asked, as though she hadn't heard anything he'd said.

"What?" he pulled out his cell phone, moving around quickly, trying to get reception.

"They said this place was magic—or cursed."

"Silly superstitions," he said, only half listening to her.  "We don't believe in those, remember?  They don't exist."

She turned to the mountain and placed her hand on the smooth rock behind her.  "Maybe," she whispered to it softly, "Maybe they don't exist because we don't believe in them."

Without another word, she turned around, closing her eyes tightly, took two steps forward, and jumped.