And one day we will die/and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea/but for now we are young/let us lay in the sun/and count every beautiful thing we can see
~ Neutral Milk Hotel. In The Aeroplane Over the Sea
I’m sitting by the river, counting the scars, when the most beautiful boy in the world falls out of a tree and lands in the grass beside me.
But I don’t like to call them scars. I like to call them badges. I like to think of them as memories. The circle, pressed into the palm of my hand; that was the first one, ever. I was fifteen years old, holding my hand over the stove, closer and closer, to see how far I could get before someone screamed at me to stop. And no one did. There’s one on my forearm that looks like an snake. I took the match, and ran it across my skin, slowly, tickling, and watched it melt into its shape.
I’m tracing the heart on my ankle, my favorite, when the boy falls out of the willow tree.
He hits the ground with a solid thud. He lays sprawled in the grass for a moment, arms and legs spread at unnatural angles. He sits up. Blinks. Smiles at me.
He stretches his arms above his head, and it’s then when I noticed. His wings. He has wings.
They’re beautiful wings, though. Red like his hair, and streaked with yellow, like precious veins of gold running through the feathers.
I can’t really focus on the wings, anyway. I’m focusing on his hair, how it’s the best color of red, the kind that reminds me of the leaves changing in autumn. His eyes are blue like the lakes in summer. His skin is pale white, like winter snow.
“What are those?” The Beautiful Boy with Wings asks, and points to my arms.
“What are those?” I point to his wings. He doesn’t answer, and continues to stare at my arms. His eyes are so blue, and they’re staring right at me. I never tell anyone about the scars, but his eyes . . . they melt away the barriers. “They’re just scars. I burn myself.”
“Why?”
“Why not? Don’t you ever wanna feel it? Don’t you ever wonder, what it would feel like to burn? Just burn. You have to wonder sometimes.”
The Beautiful Boy nearly chokes from laughing so hard. “I don’t need to wonder. Any day now. Any minute even.” He stretches his wings. “I’m a phoenix. One of these days, I’m just going to burst into flames.”
The sadness is more intense than it should be. I don’t know this boy. But what I do know, is that he’s beautiful, and he didn’t laugh at my scars. He didn’t tell me I was screwed up, like the rest of them did. But he smiled at me— he’s still smiling at me— and suddenly, more than anything, I don’t want him to die.
“Any minute now?” I ask quietly.
“Any minute now. But it’ll be okay. A new phoenix will rise out of my ashes, after I’m all burned up. At least, that’s how it supposed to happen.” He shrugs. “Anyway. Hello. I’m Alistair.”
“I’m Sylvie”
We shake hands. His hands are warm. Not sweaty, but just warm. Comforting. Not like the flames against my skin, either. His hands remind me of the feeling before the burning, when the fire is right at my skin, once it’s still warm but before it burns.
“Don’t worry,” he says, seeing my look. “I’m not on fire or anything. Last time I counted, I was only three hundred and sixty six, and I’m not supposed to burn up until I’m five hundred, at the earlier.”
“So you have time?”
“Time for what?”
I traced the heart on my ankle again. The Girl Who Sets Herself on Fire. The Beautiful Boy Who Was Going to Burst into Flames. It was meant to be, somehow.
“Time to go out with me tonight.”
Alistair glances at an invisible watch on his wrist, and shakes his wings until a feather drifts to the ground between us. He picks it up, and tucks it behind my ear. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I can spare the time.”
~ So this is my new story. I'm aware that it's (pretty) strange, but I'm just gonna have to ask you to see this as a story where anything can happen, where boys can have wings and anything really goes. It's a bit of an attempt at magical realism, I suppose, and also just because I missed posting on here and getting feedback from all you lovely people.
Thanks x100 to the fabulous Riley Tegan for her beautiful cover, and for putting up with my spontaneous combustion jokes.
And in case you didn't see my oh-so-subtle hit up there, please, feel free to tell me what you think of this! Your feedback is what keeps me writing! <3
Elle ~
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Our Ashes Will Fly
ContoI'm in love with a boy. He has red hair and blue eyes, and skin as pretty and perfect as marble. And one of these days, he's going to burst into flames.
