writing_shadows

Rex Black stirs to consciousness in the blood-warmth of shared Mantles; legs and arms entangled. Pressure on the bed shifts as she gets up and leaves. He smiles, rolls over, goes back to sleep.

Eventually, sunlight falls in a line over his eyes and he stirs again. Lifts the delicate hand from his still-bruised chest. Still half-wrapped in his dream, he makes coffee, inhales its steam. His host does herself proud; he drinks, smiles, scratches his head.

Later, in light shirt and rolled trousers, he pads down the steps to the sand, coffee cup still held lightly in one hand. A trail of footprints leads toward the beach, but after a while it disappears.

He digs a little circle in the sand and sets his coffee there, just shy of the water's upper mark, then walks into the shallow water. The lagoon water is still and clear; he wriggles his toes, kicking up sand. An image flutters before his eyes; a young woman sinking to the floor, graceful even with the life pumping out of her. He shakes his head and splashes water, closes his eyes, and lets the west wind caress him. The girl fades until there is only sky and sand and water, his yellow bruises and the coffee going cold in his cup.

There is an sound of wings from the treeline, and a flock of parrots swoops toward the beach like a handful of gems flung across the sky. He lifts his face and spreads his arms to greet them.