Capturing the Stars : A Short Story Collection

Out of Obscurity (Love Bites Oneshot)

Love Bites One-shot
Theme = Literal or figurative love born out of darkness
Title: Out of Obscurity
-----I-----
It all originated from a web of darkness, welled from a spring of obscurity. It was much like the birth of a star - unexpected, violent, extraordinary. Beginning in a cloud of dusty misconceptions and vaporous fantasies, gravity would soon pull them together, only for fate to sadistically collapse the unsteady block tower of their love. They would continue to be lured in, enticed by childish whimsies, by castles in the air, holy figures in the swollen billows above. No one could understand the attraction, for logic cannot change the course of fate, nor can fate change the course of eternity.

Dear friends, destiny and fate are two opposite things; beware of how you toy with them. Fate will take much tempting, will flirtaciously evade all questioning. Destiny is steadfast. Try as you may, but she will never change. Her refusal is for your benefit; take heed that you do not contradict it.

Perhaps the lovers were destined to collapse, to be pulled under by the weight of their own solemnity. Perhaps the pressure was too much, if the heat had not been so intense, maybe, just maybe, they would be the same. A lethal potion of lies and lonesomeness was taking its effect. Collapse was inevitable. Yet they continued on, hurtling towards their imminent destruction, careening towards their inevitable obliteration. They were at rest, unknowingly contributing to their own ruin.

And were loving every minute of it.

-----II-----

His eyes were as dark as a night of shadows; his hair was a perfect mass of ebony curls. It was supposed that he was a child of the gods, for no one could quite identify his heritage, and his chiseled jaw and dusky eyes were much too beautiful to be that of a mortal's. He appeared to be an orphan, growing up on his own, alone, but no one knew quite for sure. He was a mystery, the gate keeper of the forests. He seemed to be perpetually alone, for he was distant, gruff even, to the passerby, and his only companion a regal stallion as black as his hair. It was often said, quite ominously, that when he rode atop his steed, his stately mantle flowing behind him, that the two were nothing but a fleeting pair of shadows. People stayed out of his way, yet it seemed that he was a phantom of the timberland, an apparition of the wood, for he often seemed to appear out of the shadows, bow and quiver in hand, dark eyes narrowed.

He often rescued a frightened traveler, or an anxious mother trying only to make it to the stile in the field outside the forest before dark. He toiled endlessly, growing his own garden, guarding the wood, making his rounds on his horse. His humble cabin was hidden within the tangles of grapevines and ferns which he had planted, for while in the shade, he had studiously cultured seeds which would be certain to grow. He was intelligent; it was evident in the workmanship of his cabin, his furniture, the lay of his garden. His hands were rough with toil, his muscular physique veiny and corded. He was a hardened man, one used to drudgery and sweat, one who did it not for pleasure, not out of necessity, but because it was the only thing that he knew, the only thing that he could comprehend.

.......

If he was the darkness of the forest, then she was the sun of the field. She was nimble, spry, yet graceful. Even when she sashayed to town in her shabbiest muslin gown, hauling the gallons of milk to sell, her hair a curly blond braid down her back, her apron awry, the gentlemen would stare. Her bare feet treaded softly over the dusty road, her sweet voice melting with the sound of the birds around her. She paid no mind to the men fawning over her, for she was not to be wooed. She was a brilliant star, stunning to behold yet detrimental to contain. She was not to be held down, not to be caged, not to be suppressed. They said she was born of Aphrodite, yet no one knew, for her mother was long gone, and her father had disappeared nearly a decade before.

She was brave and strong, often besting the men of the town in community hunts. She was vigor and youth, intelligence and beauty, all rolled into one. She was the woman that not even the best of the town's
men could have.

-----III-----

The nighttime sounds of the forest permeated the silence of the darkness as he sat, crouched at the base of the tree. It was his favorite time of evening, where the blackness has already fallen, and the wood is coming alive. It was also the time of night which tended to frighten the travelers the greatest, so he was conveniently on call. Perhaps it was his acute sense of hearing, his ability to sense the snapping of a twig before it occurred, or maybe he was truly a son of the gods, but he always could sense distress. His steed and he were of the same spirit, sensing, running, rescuing, disappearing. He never spoke unless it was necessary, and he never smiled. He was as dark as the new moon.

Perhaps that was why he could feel the sob before he heard it, could sense the sadness before he saw it. He nimbly drew himself to his feet, striding towards the sound. The very same woman, the one with the blond locks made of stars, was sobbing in the darkness.

He made his way to her. Was she afraid? Was she lost? Was she unable to see in the shadows surrounding her?

He stopped short as he noticed the glow that emanated from every inch of her skin. She was not like the others, he realized. She looked up, meeting his gaze. His perpetually narrowed eyes widened in surprise as he took in her green eyes, flecked with yellow. In them was a fearless ferocity, a vengeful burn, a strange darkness that looked out of place in a woman of light. In them was also a pool of tears. He was a man of few words, a man of strange silences. He did not know what to do.

He extended his hand to the woman. Her slender hand reached out, clasping his, as he hauled her to her feet. They stood, gazing at each other, wondering what really was the reason the other was standing there. And then they simultaneously took a step closer. Perhaps it was what he had seen in her eyes, something that was so deeply rooted in himself, or perhaps it was her opposite polarity, but he did the unthinkable.

He pulled her closer and kissed her.

He was not a man given to sentimentality, he was not a man given to the childishness of love. But the sun had struck him, sending him on a collision course to her. And he loved it. Yes, she would eventually leave, and yes, she would eventually break his callous heart, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter why she'd been crying, it didn't matter the absurd situation under which they had met, it didn't matter that people don't traditionally meet in a forest and fall in love. Heck, it didn't matter if it was love at all. It didn't matter that their love wouldn't last, that it was destined to collapse. None of it mattered in the moment. All that mattered was that he was there, kissing her, finding the one moment in his life that could, in fact, be perfect.