Walking in the dark
It’s dark. You take my hand and lead me through the gate. Along the road. It’s cool outside and I’m not sure where we’re going.
The gravel is warm under my toes. Spiders’ webs, reflecting the street lamps, shine like giant eyes in the trees. The houses are still, shutters closed between light and glass.
You have your fingers tangled in mine.
The houses end, we leave the road, moving into open fields. Feet have worn a path for us to follow.
You run, great surging strides. I try to keep up but you are getting away from me.
The road has twisted back across the path, but you don’t slow. A honk breaks the quiet of the night. I gasp, hiding my face in my hands.
You’re on the other side of the road, grinning back at me. “Come on!”
I look both ways and run across. My fingers slip into yours.
We jog slowly, following the path along the lake until we reach the edge of the forest. The grass is long here, long enough to hide in.
You pull me to the ground.
There’s a noise from the forest.
“It’s just the wind,” you say.
I lie back and grip your hand. The stars, like children’s eyes, don’t know when to look away.
You lie beside me. “There’s so much out there,” you say.
I don’t say anything and neither do the stars. We have the sound of the wind in the trees. That is enough.
There are invisible things tickling my legs. I don’t know what they are and I don’t want to know.
I get up. “Let’s go back.”
Your eyes are lost in the stars. I look at the path leading away from the forest, back toward the lights of home.
Eventually, you get up.
Our feet trace the same way back. The moon lights the path.
I turn to look at you.
You’re walking with your eyes closed and for a moment I do the same.
‘Walking in the dark’ and another piece of mine, 'Bulls and statistics', were published in Scissor Paper Pen's zine, Paperclip.
The gravel is warm under my toes. Spiders’ webs, reflecting the street lamps, shine like giant eyes in the trees. The houses are still, shutters closed between light and glass.
You have your fingers tangled in mine.
The houses end, we leave the road, moving into open fields. Feet have worn a path for us to follow.
You run, great surging strides. I try to keep up but you are getting away from me.
The road has twisted back across the path, but you don’t slow. A honk breaks the quiet of the night. I gasp, hiding my face in my hands.
You’re on the other side of the road, grinning back at me. “Come on!”
I look both ways and run across. My fingers slip into yours.
We jog slowly, following the path along the lake until we reach the edge of the forest. The grass is long here, long enough to hide in.
You pull me to the ground.
There’s a noise from the forest.
“It’s just the wind,” you say.
I lie back and grip your hand. The stars, like children’s eyes, don’t know when to look away.
You lie beside me. “There’s so much out there,” you say.
I don’t say anything and neither do the stars. We have the sound of the wind in the trees. That is enough.
There are invisible things tickling my legs. I don’t know what they are and I don’t want to know.
I get up. “Let’s go back.”
Your eyes are lost in the stars. I look at the path leading away from the forest, back toward the lights of home.
Eventually, you get up.
Our feet trace the same way back. The moon lights the path.
I turn to look at you.
You’re walking with your eyes closed and for a moment I do the same.
‘Walking in the dark’ and another piece of mine, 'Bulls and statistics', were published in Scissor Paper Pen's zine, Paperclip.