A Series of Short Stories: Summer

A Series of Short Entries: Summer

A Series of Short Entries: Summer

Forward:

A new thing is born. Since the spark of intelligence man has watched as the forces of nature battle in a tireless dance of perpetual conquest. Their fray shaping the seasons who each bring their own emotion to each step of the tango. Having the audacity to want to wield these raw emotions is both man's greatest strength and weakness; so, when man understands them enough, he dubs each by their affects on him. Winter, the cold hands that clasp the side and back of each partner, thus initiating the intricate movements, has been cited as the initiator of the upcoming engagement. Typically acting as the end of that which cosmic dancers have deemed a favorable tune, winter seemingly always unintentionally plays a role in the liberation of the ball's dancers. Stopping their interaction by ending, however briefly, the previous ballet. This time, however, something changed. Winter was not to blame for the most recent abrupt end of bodily contortions. This was because winter had fallen ill. Its breaths were shallow and measured and it began to cough violently. Shaking until the thick layer of ice on its old legs cracked and crumbled. All at once it stopped. The illness left as quickly as it came and no one seemed to have noticed. It was as if the chains of stagnation that held the chandelier in place had broken, causing the expensive ornament to fall and shatter, leaving only Winter the wiser. But just as Winter was wrapping its head around what just happened, the most delicate of tap shoes had fallen into its hands as if by magic. Like Athena sprouting from the head of Zeus, the shoes seemed to be a figment of Winter's imagination. Winter stared, completely dumbfounded by their elegance. It wanted so desperately to know their origin and it's true owner, that it channeled all of its energy to that end. But despite this turn of events and its sheer admiration, winter's innate role as the reaper of soles may result in the end of its own beautiful offspring. So for now, we shall revel in the freedom granted to the children of the snow by chance. The seed of this freedom quickly plants itself in the souls of each tap and as shoes click, spring blooms with the blossom of an ever growing jazzy duet. Now, man no longer watches these forces interact but has saddled the closest of which and ridden the sounds of a rhythmic beat. Spring rushes at summer with a flare as man is led into the warmth of a beautifully pink unknown. Once caught in the natural duel of supremacy, man is compelled beyond reason to complete this mysterious cycle. The ending of which is still to be determined and as man's greatest strength becomes a damning weakness, he has little choice but to face the truth of his ails. For man was never meant to tame the forces that create his passion and the double edged sword of lust and pursuit, however successful one may be in such endeavors, will bear its teeth on those who wield it. The question then remains: can man lead the vixen in tempo, or will she step on his toes?

The Thoughts of Summer

Eerie is the storm forming on the horizon. Initially it is quiet and unnoticeable. Frosting the peach skyline with a grey cream that rumbles in its belly. Curling ever so slightly at the edges, forming a depressing smile of sorts. Calming is the gentle breeze careening through hair as sandy as the beach it brushes against. At its roots is a woman of maturity in mind that defies her age. Powerful is the scene that prevails, boasting of an infinite expanse of blue playing a mock war with the sands as they clash. With wandering eyes that can pierce the most formidable of armours, she lazily looks out at the foaming storm, then at her tanning body and sighs in exasperation. As trivial as the need to alter one's complexion can be, the woman of gold toils with a self perceived imperfection that must be defeated, as far as she can tell, with the acquisition of, or rather, regression to, the dullness of bronze. Just ahead of her is a home whose pale complexion resembles her own from the last dance. Although she had only recently moved into this home, she couldn't help but feel as though she had lived there her whole life.
Now that her plans have been foiled by the untimely weather, she begins to gather her things and return home when she notices a figure appear in the distance. It sees her and immediately begins a purposeful approach. The mysterious figure becomes more defined as she casts the full strength of her gaze at it and realises that it is the man. Man, who has been in tango, has temporarily broken away from the cycle thanks to the the coming of winter; thus winter, has given him the opportunity to pursue a new force. Now he has spotted another caught in the same fray.
The woman's good mood is now tainted with disdain. As she walks away from the tide and towards man there is a single question raised in her mind that shatters the previous blissful ambiance. "Who are you?" Much like the forth coming storm, this single question is both feint in calmness and and very unsettling. To the untrained eye, he is just another man. But to those who have extensive experience with the pain of several missed steps, this man screams gullibility. Strong in heart but weak in mind. The naive twinkle in his eyes has not yet been crushed out of him. His face radiating with unecesarry joy and compassion. The woman, who we will call gold until she is properly named, has already concluded his purpose and will have none of it. She pretends to not see him and makes a hasty walk towards her home. The man, being equally as observant, also rushes towards the house to cut her off but realises that her lead is too great and decides to call after her instead. "Hey! Hey! Can I talk to you for a second?" she falters then stops. At this point it is obvious that she has both heard and seen him. For a moment she considers flipping him off and taking a mad dash towards the house, but she runs the idea through her mind a second time and decides that it's a slightly crazy way to tell someone that she isn't interested.
So she decides to change tactics and entertain his questions for a while. By this point, he was about twenty feet away from her and out of breath. Feeling sorry for him, she approaches and asks if he's ok. He responds with a wheeze. Looking around him, he begins to ask how come there doesn't appear to be any one else on the beach when he stops and stares at her. Her first reaction was to wipe her mouth to check for food on her face, then play it off by rubbing her eyes and brush her entire face with her hands as if saying "I'm really tired and you should know it". As obvious as this should have been, the man, who we're going to call step until he is properly named, was as oblivious to this as the moon is the sun. However, he quickly realised he was just staring at her and not saying anything.
You're staring you idiot, stop it. Pull your shit together and say something witty, no charming, wait isn't that the same thing? no? Go for cool and laid back. Now you're just trying too hard. You just met her so ask for her name. You're still staring!
He snapped out of his trance and threw his hands in his pocket, leaned back slightly, and said " 'sup".
He's a fuck boy, was the first thought in her head. It was almost reflexive. Like a learned skill. Am I too harsh? Was the next. "Hey there, How are you doing?" was her simple response. And it threw him off. Not that leaning back like you're half drunk - half tipsy and saying "sup" has ever worked, quite the contrary, he expected to be laughed off the beach but her response and tone was kind and welcoming. How am I doing? I have no idea, I didn't expect to get this far. "I'm - eh, uhm, you know, fine" He gave a weak laugh and scratched the back of his head. " I've been on this beach for the better half of the day and haven't seen another human being anywhere. I guess you can say I feel stranded and I'm just happy to see another face. So are you really the only person here?" She was, and she knew why he was here. This was her escape. Her place of abode to get lost in paradise and find herself. He was an intruder. It was as if the universe was intentionally testing her will. There is much to be said about this woman. She has already seen the real possibility of a fallen partner after a broken song. Needless to say, she is no stranger to the pain of rejection. Now, she only finds relief when the passion of another infiltrates that of her own.
At first blush, it would appear that her motivation to plunge into this first enchanting cycle was to please a compulsive nature that thought only of itself and its desire. To search for a partner who can lead her and be lead. None thus far have been able. The options provided to her where much less hopeful than a single choice
Now gold did find step to be very attractive but she was far too well versed in the art of pursuit and rejection to allow this mediocre attempt at an icebreaker gain any more ground than it deserved. It was this very attraction that had her torn. He did not recognize her but she has seen him many times. He was in the naivety of every "true love's first kiss". She knew no such thing existed and felt no need wasting her time on such pursuits. So she ran. But now she was caught in an awkward silence as she often finds herself in, and felt her attraction growing. She could not approach him in the same manner as she has the others. They were more confident and tested. He had an air of innocence which was simultaneously attractive yet unwanted, at least for now. Now she was the one who was staring. Shit, say something idiot, you're creeping him out. "Yea I am the only one here." She looked across the beach to the approaching storm. "Would you like to come in? The storm will be here soon" She leads him to the pale home and smiles to herself.