PART I:
"Oh.My.Sweet.Holy.Lord." The words stumble out in a queue, as I adjust myself to the scenery. It is the epitome of raw beauty. As unaffected by the catastrophic effects of man and time, you'd think it has never heard of them. Or bothered to care.
"It's gorgeous isn't it?" Z laughs at the awestruck face I've got plastered on, as he steps out of the parked minivan. I nod, without looking at him, my neck is permanently transfixed and my eyes have forgotten how to blink. As we make our way down the side ridge we parked the van on, the scene reveals its beauty and fascinates me further.
Far across the distance on the other end of the deep blue lake, magnificent mountain slopes reach the heights of the blue sky with pure white clouds lapping at their lean slants like curdled cream. An asymmetrical row of picnic mats hosting families and erected umbrellas sheltering little, half naked, sun kissed bodies line the entire shore line of the lake. The lake itself is a thing of immense beauty, no wonder people would believe fairies shower here on the night of the full moon, heck, if I was a fairy I'd be damned if I didn't come here every night. Not to shower, just to stare at it. The basin is cradled in the loving palms of the adjoining, amiable colony of mountains.
The breathtaking deep blue meniscus stretches from the row of mountains to the sandy shore. At one end of its expanse it feeds off of an iceberg derived stream tumbling down the mountains and at the other end it generously offers the fresh cool waters to the shores. The sunlight reflects of the blue glassy surface making it sparkle like pixy dust and I can spot kids with their pant legs rolled up standing in the water tossing the glistening waves into each others' eyes.
We all don't speak to each other or look at each other, as we unhesitatingly march down to the beckoning panorama. The soles of our shoes, embrace the crevices of the ridge. My shoes, containing shifting feet that refuse to stay still; embrace the dust which disperses on every step. We jump off the ledge onto the safety, the populous shoreline offers. Looking from east to west, taking in the lively atmosphere; the giggles, shot outs and sounds of splashing water calm my senses. I take a deep breath, the scent of ceaseless joy and gloriously delicious food fills in my nostrils.
Z, the guy who barely fights off the motor control disorders that jam his body when he's excited, is stiff and steady as an oak tree. "Omi, buddy. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think our van just crashed and we all ended up in heaven, with our bag packs and sandwiches." I squint my eyes, partly because of the reflecting rays and partly because I'm smiling, and look up at Z.
While I'm still staring at Z's massive jaw drop, I hear Omi speak up from behind me, "Dude, I'm not even sure anymore, Sam do you think we're alive?"
The light spreads far and wide, it hugs the curves of our faces and despite the skinny, pale, scrawny bodies we are it makes us look like tanned beautiful creatures, "I feel alive," I say, "and besides if I really had died I don't think I would go to heaven wearing this fanny pack. It's a crime against fashion."
We all laugh together, and our voices mingle with the sounds of the atmosphere. The mellow light makes everything ordinary special. I wonder how many humans might have witnessed such epic beauty and now in those limited numbers, now one of them is me. Makes me feel like I'm special. Like I'm worth something.
Bravo, unzips her bag, retrieves a picnic mat, and spreads it out along the lines of the various mats studding the shoreline. She smoothes its edges and sits down quietly staring at the scene. I sit down next to her, "Thank you for bringing me along."
"Thank you for risking your life for me." It's like we are talking to the clear blue waters, we stare straight ahead, but her sudden gratitude over something I don't recall doing makes me avert my eyes a little from the scene and catch the shadow of a smile on her face, illuminated by the loving golden light.

YOU ARE READING
The Firefly Field Theory
Teen FictionOn a scale of one to ten what are the chances that the excessively bullied social reject who had no real friends back in high school will end up having a future stained permanently with depression that threatens to last a life time? Whatever the num...