Mirka Nele
September this year is cold and dry, the overgrown garden moves almost lazily with the wind. Treetops are just starting to turn yellow and at least another couple of weeks will pass before first leaves descend dancing into the grass. The open garden pavilion is barely visible from where he is standing. Tiny, surprisingly white patches under the cover of ivy, smooth corner of a bench, green moss on the dark roof come into view as he walks slowly up the path. He stops three steps away from the entrance and looks up. The sky is clear and the sun is shining. The sky is always clear here.

He closes his eyes, blinded by the sun and motionless. Raises his high collar against the wind and steps into the pavilion. White stone is cold and solid, neither inviting nor hostile, smooth under his fingertips as he runs one hand over its surface. He flinches slightly when he recognizes the old spell still present and waking, tickling his skin as if greeting. My bonnie lies over the ocean… And the sun is dancing in the green ivy.

He hums and turns slowly, opening his arms wide. A small lady in a flowery dress stands in front of him, smiling and tilting her head to one side. He takes her by the hand and lays his right hand on her waist. She follows him ever so lightly and gracefully. My bonnie lies over the sea… He leads her, waltzing, in circles round and round the pavilion. Her eyes are the same color as seawater. My bonnie lies over the ocean… Her hair is red and silky, flying behind her back as they spin, flowing bright and shiny in the sunlight. My bonnie lies over the sea… She looks at him happily, she smiles and she laughs and she loves. Oh, she loves! And she smiles and every look is promise. Now and forever.

Bring back, bring back… He stops in the middle of the stone circle and lets his arms fall. Warm feeling of summer air on his skin is gone, and so is she. Bring back, oh bring back… It was such a beautiful day, she said, and the sun was shining. They had had an awful summer, cold and rainy, she said, but now the sky was clear. Oh bring back my bonnie to me, to me… Now and forever, he promised, the sky will always be clear. For you, right here. Will it make you happy? And she laughed and held his hand. Bring back, oh bring back… He touches one of the pillars at the entrance, wanting to remove the spell. Forever, he reminds himself, whispering the word to the stone and tasting it, dusty and sour in his mouth. Forever.

Bring back, bring back...
The sky is always clear over the pavilion.
Oh bring back my bonnie to me.

@темы: настолько смертельно, что человек умирает, неклассифицируемое словотворчество