You caught my hand and we ran, your skin thin, your fingers knuckle and bone. “Come with me,” you called, your voice lifted in the whisper of the leaves.
You thought you cast a shadow over my life. I was light – ice white and paler, and always far away.
You were dark and relentlessly thoughtful. When you saw my dawn beset by doubt, you thought it came from you.
You could never see that all my light was you. You, the kindling to my thoughts. The obscurity of my mind illuminated only by your flame.
You would run until it hurt, until the darkness consumed the outlines of the forest. But where would you stop? Your eyes were dark pools of promise I could not follow. A strong current stirred the water and I felt myself swept away.
“Come with me,” you called, and we ran through the forest towards morning.
About the author: Lucy is writing a series of spy novels. She enjoys flash fiction as a relief from tortuous plots.