Thursday, 3 June 2010

Moonlight Tenderness

Another exercise in underlying themes.

This time I've tried to give the reader the impression that one particular situation is being described and only reveal to them at the last possible moment, that they've (hopefully) been misled, and that the piece they've been reading has been describing a totally different scenario.

Please read it, and let me know what you think of it by commenting at the end of the post. Thank you.

Moonlight Tenderness

The light summer breeze blew through the open window and gently rattled the blind, lifting it repeatedly and then letting it fall again. The moonlight shone through each short lived gap, piercing the darkness and illuminating both their faces with flickering light as they lay sleeping. She was often restless during warm summer nights and even these soft flashes of light falling upon her face were enough to rouse her from her fragile slumber.

He slept on.

She opened her eyes, and then quickly covered them with her free hand as the annoying light disturbed her as it flashed. She lay there for a moment under the light cotton summer sheet, then unwrapped her other arm from around his sleeping form, and swung her legs down to place her feet on the floor. She arose from the bed and walked over to the window. It was still far too warm to fasten it closed so she did her best to adjust the blind and secure it in place.

As she turned back toward the bed, she stopped and realised she’d been unable to shut out all of the moonlight; she noticed how what remained now shone steadily through a gap at the edge of the window and fell softly on his face as he slept, illuminating him with a soft gentle glow. She stood a while longer looking at him and she smiled.

At times like these, he looked so peaceful. No sign was there of the urgency that seemed to rule his life during his waking hours. No sign of the determination that was such a strong aspect of his personality that strangers often mistook it for aggression. He had surrendered himself to sleep, and only now was it clear what a gentle soul he really was.

She loved him of course, and she should only ever have seen goodness in him, but there were times when even she recognised how his forceful personality might not endear him to people. Occasionally what he saw as merely an attitude of strength and masculinity would annoy some people and make them wary of him.

He did his best to display a facade of strength. He always refused to show emotion publicly, because in his own mind, it made him seem that much softer and more vulnerable and he wasn’t prepared to display weakness of any kind to anyone. When he was alone with her though, he’d often let his guard down and open up to her. He’d assured her so many times how determined he was and always would be to look after her and protect her, but she often smiled when she thought about how vulnerable and fragile he really could be at times himself, and she knew that he needed protection as much as anyone did. That was what she was there for: to look after him, whether he thought he needed her to or not.

He looked so peaceful lying there. Though she’d never think of telling him as much, he looked beautiful with the soft moonlight on his face as he lay there breathing gently. She was determined to be with him forever, or for as long as he needed her at least. One thing that was certain was that she would never stop loving him.

She glanced at the bedside clock. He’d be waking in an hour or so; he always awoke early, and he had a busy day ahead of him. She walked over to the bed, put her arms around him and kissed him as she lifted him. It was about time he was back in his own bed. He certainly would have a busy day. Yes: every day was a busy day for a five year old.

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