Night’s kiss.

Latest piece below. A little Gothic and a little supernatural.

This is the kind of night, he always told me about. The crisp air stinging my lungs and burning my eyes. The cool kiss of the breeze, as it fingers my hair and raises goosebumps along my skin, like a lover’s caress. I can’t resist stepping out into the inky blackness, the devouring mouth of the night as it consumes all that is alive during the day.

My feet sink into the grass, heavy and laden with ice, the shards slice at the delicate souls of my feet, turning them crimson at the edges and almost translucent on top. Perhaps if I walked long enough into the dark I would become part of it. Part of the night, part of the velvet smoothness of the sky, its surface only marred by the tiny twinkling pinpricks of light.

My night gown clings to my ankles and pushes the wet lace against my thighs, the trembling of my body, a contrast to the heat within. The excitement of the night’s kiss, the freedom of leaving the cellar, of walking where I shouldn’t, until the sun rises again and I am lost. Only spoken of in hushed tones behind quickly locked doors and slammed windows.

They all know what I am, I cannot help it. One cannot change who they are born to be. So God fearing they forget that he made me too. I am one of his creations, and despite their attempts to kill me, I always survive. Perhaps they know I am favoured above them, that I will remain while they wither away and die, that I am what their children will be.

I am the future.

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Photo by Ryan and Sarah Deeds  via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons