Short Stories

These are my short stories. I certainly hope that everyone enjoies them. Of course, it should not be needed to be told that no one in any shape or form has any permission to repost, rewrite, alter, sell, copy, etc. and so forth any of them. I retain full rights to all of them, and only those whom I have submitted them to or given express permission may use them in any shape or form. 

 

Autumn Rain

And what were those feelings,
Covered in the folds of brightly colored daffodils as we lay in fields of summer . . .
The world seemed so bleak and grey before I met you . . .
It was as if the sun never shined and all that existed was the rain . . .
That soft pitter patter of drops to keep me company amidst my solitude in a fortress of sorrow. . .
But now the Autumn leaves turn their shades which I have never seen . . .
Orange, yellow, and brown . . .
A sight and festival of colors for which all should behold . . .
A side of life who’s meaning I cannot quite glean . . .
Yet I know one thing . . .
I love you . . .

 

It was the soft pitter patter of rain drops on the bay window that roused Ruby from her slumber amongst the massive pillows that lined the sill bed nestled into the wall and overlooking the world outside. Wild flowers could be seen lining the hill side, forever sloping down towards the lake which lay just outside the manor. Their colors were only diminished by the soft rain clouds which loomed over head as if some never ending blanket of gray that covered the world in some soft void of sleepiness.  A yawn began to escape her lips as she roused more and stretched, her eyes peering out the window into the colored grayness.  Those two solitary emerald orbs simply stared out, checking the blanket of colors below before trailing up to the unrelenting one which dropped down the rain upon the abode which she now resided.

What was it; a simple pause that held her attention, some memory lost in time that tugged at the back of her mind like a fog that refused to let up. She shook her head gently before blinking and settling those orbs upon a single white flower. It’s swaying catching her eyes and transfixing them solidly upon its position amongst the droplets of water which cascaded over its white petals. Then it was as if the dam broke, everything came cascading back to her in a flood of feelings and images. Tears came unbidden and as if slowed by breach in time trickled down across her cheeks.

Instantly she was back there; amongst the warm autumn sun, the fields of flowers, and nestling with in his arms as they wrapped around her and sheltered her from anything that might wish to harm her in this world. The sweet smells of wild flowers, pine, and rushing water assaulted her nostrils. The sounds trumpeted in her ears of birds singing sweetly echoing across a breeze that also carried the breath of the river with it.  His arms were strong and his body was warm, his scent was filled with the outdoors and hinted of mountains.  The cool wind licked at her face as if some way ward pet that craved more attention and caused her to shift, nestling ever closer to him.
It was the leaves that caught her attention the most. Vibrant colors of orange, red, yellow, brown, and they all stood out as if flashes of lightning vying for her attention. The way they seemed to shiver in the wind, it was like bells dancing and performing a symphony just for the two of them as they clung together in the soft cool grass. He was a mystery to her, yet she felt so safe and secure in his arms. His arms, they were strong enough to snap a man in twain, yet they wrapped around her so gently. When his hand trailed along the side of her cheek it was as if spring itself caressed her face in some loving moment of eternity.
The wind shuttered once more and the hillside was alive with festivities, the flowers and leaves danced to some hidden melody. It was a song that echoed throughout the glade, a soft jingling that reached in towards the soul and begged for celebration and could not be refused by any. The crescendo was the wind; the rise of the orchestra was the stream and the leaves. The music was a rush of sounds and coolness that could not be tamed or rewritten.  It was a beautiful harmony which stood out in time and memory and it drew the two of them closer. He was everything she desired and wanted, and he was nothing.
It was his soft touch that led her face to slowly tilt upwards, his lips which robbed her of her senses as they caressed her own. She could feel the fire rising up inside of her as he gently traces his fingers across her skin as if she were some delicate porcelain doll which required care and a grace unknown to any living man. His lips seemed like honey to her, soft and sweet as if perhaps finely aged mead that begged to be consumed. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she felt her breath rise within her, his arms laid her back gently against the cool grass. Those emerald wells met with ones of sapphire, pure and blue as the sky upon a spring morning. He leaned in, a slow deliberate gesture, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Her spine tingled and she could feel the fire rise up in her breast and between her legs . . .
Ruby blinked and the daffodil lost its hold upon her, only the soft patter of the rain now echoed in her ears. The wet hill side which led down to the lake, blanketed in gray, was the only sight that met her eyes. The chill of fall showers seemed to permeate from the window and she found herself shivering as she wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing them up to her chest.  Who was he? This phantom of a memory that would take hold of her and refuse to let go, that solitary moment in time which made no sense and stuck in her mind almost as if a dream. It was only a year or so ago, but it seemed like yesterday. It was but a chance meeting upon the forest hillside near the ring of mushrooms. He was all she ever wanted, all that she needed . . . and she didn’t even know his name.  But the wind outside knew, and it echoed where she could not hear it. ‘Wayland’ . . . it called. ‘Wayland’  . . . it echoed. But she could only stare back out the window at the daffodils and slip back into her memory, lost to it once again.