On the eighth night, Shiloh knew what reason three was.
"Hensley, look up." Her hand was in his, something new. Not like he minded.
She made a small mewling sound, but complied.
"And what exactly am I looking at, Shiloh?" she couldn't see anything significant and she was thoroughly confused.
"The stars. Reason number three." His hand gripped hers a little tighter.
"They're like problems. There are so many of 'em and they're always there, but you can't always see 'em. You keep them hidden until your moment of vulnerability, the night." She didn't understand fully.
"Well, if the night's so beautiful and amazing why is it so vulnerable?" she wondered.
"Well, sometimes vulnerability means beauty." And Hensley saw Shiloh looking at her - through her.
He looked at her as if he had solved her or was solving her.
"And what if vulnerability means weakness - hopelessness?" he knew they were no longer talking about the stars in the sky, but the stars down on earth. More importantly, the star he was looking at right now.
"Vulnerability will always mean weakness, but it'll also mean strength. It's whatever you make it - whatever you allow it to be." Then he looked back at the stars.
"Go on, make a wish." He said. His voice was quiet.
"I thought that was only shooting stars."
"It's whatever you want it to be. "
And Hensley kind of understood.
YOU ARE READING
S H I L O H (a short story)
Teen FictionIn which a boy with nyctophilia meets a girl with insomnia * "My name is Shiloh", he replied, and she said he looked like a Shiloh. He asked her name. "Hensley." it was a short clipped reply, one he grew accustomed to. He knew it was because she was...
