Paper Wings Part Two

He worked without reprise. The boat took him away from everything – friends, family, life. He worked through the endless night, adding wood to the fire to guide his hand. He let it consume him. The fire blazed through his eyes and seared beneath his skin. He was a cinder, a glowing ember burning into his task.

When the stars began to fade and dawn touched the horizon, he was ready. The boat was complete. Behind him, the fire died with a hiss. A trail of smoke lifted towards the last of the stars, and together they faded with a sigh.

He let his hammer fall to the ground, his arm still ringing its blows. The cold reached him and he shivered. He turned, and realized he was alone. Where she had stood, just at the edge of the firelight, lay bare stone and an empty space.

The sun rose and cast new light upon the scene. Warm light, life giving light – not the red glow from the fire that could only consume.

She was gone and he wondered if she had ever been. A trick of the shadows? A ghost that could not exist with the truth of the day?

He knelt where she had stood and found a small shard of bone. A memory that shone white with the growing light. He picked it up, one end was splintered and sharp. He held the bone to his chest, over his heart, and drew it against his flesh. A bright red ribbon opened and flowed down his ribs. It would leave a scar, something real to remind him that illusions have the power to wound.

He walked to his boat, alone, bone in hand. The ocean beyond glowed molten with the rising sun. He kicked out the mooring post and the boat slid into the water. It made no noise, just glided into the liquid fire. It sat, big enough for two, with ripples pooling about it. He looked around once more. She was gone, like the stars, like the fire, like a dream.

He climbed aboard and unfurled the sails. They snapped in the morning breeze. He used the bone once more – to carve a name into his vessel. One word, red with his blood, cut into the hull with a memory; “Truth.”

He tucked the bone into his pocket and wiped his bloody hands on his pants. If he was to search for distant lands, he must resign himself to first lose sight of the shore. With one hand upon the rudder, he sailed “Truth” into the unknown.

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Tags:

boat, fire, fly, metaphor, night, ocean, sea, spark, stars and wings