Drag anchor

I did see a few shooting stars last night, but the experience wasn’t one I’m keen to repeat. Watching in silence heightens the other senses and the night sounds are eerie—rustlings and branches cracking. And the insects! Mosquitoes I don’t mind, don’t mind bats or moths either, but I HATE rhinoceros beetles. They are huge and seem to fly straight into any obstacle. And horseflies that land in utter silence on their cushioned pads and slice into flesh without you feeling a thing. I gave up after the second rhinoceros beetle crashed into me, and something began to hiss in the grass behind the well.

 

Sometimes there is no centre,

no lynchpin.

Nothing is certain; everything floats,

the spacewalk with no ropes.

Arms reach out and catch empty air;

today is anguish and tomorrow is dread.

Sun shrivels the berries on the branch,

the water in the stream,

the hopes that are just so many words.

In the night,

even the stars drag their anchors,

drown,

and wishes don’t come true.

Microfiction: Starman take two

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Her dearest wish had always been to catch the tail of a falling star. Where did they go, she wondered, when they blazed across the night and disappeared below the horizon? The small child would dream of bright red oceans filled with golden fish, glittering starfish and rainbow-coloured birds soaring in a turquoise sea. Later, she dreamed of the infinite depths of an unknown heart, following the shining silver light to reach the core, to travel with a twin heart to the limits of the possible.

When the biggest, brightest star she had ever seen poured earthward in a cascade of light and tore up the big field, she was there to greet it. When she saw him, crawling out of the smoke, pulling off his helmet to reveal brilliant green eyes and red gold hair, she smiled and held out her hands, and she held out her heart.

He returned her smile and opened his arms wide.

“We have hearts too,” he said, and their two hearts curled around one another in their cupped hands, like two silver fish in a bowl of clear water. With twin hearts beating together, she touched his cheek and it was smooth and warm; he traced the curve of her lips with his thumb.

“I’ll show you where the falling stars go,” he said.

“Will we swim in the crimson sea?” she asked.

“With the golden fish,” he said.

“And fly in the turquoise air?”

“We will be rainbow feathers and music.”

“Take me there,” she said.

And he did.