He skipped rocks across the creek, a few hours until sunset. The rays danced across the rippling waters as each small, flat stone tip-toed along the surface. He was in his happy place, secluded from his stress and his fears by the dark trees. It was the beginning of August. The leaves were still green. He sighed and bent forward, reaching his lean yet muscular right hand into the shallow waters for a stone. One glimmered briefly in the sun and caught his attention. As it faded, he froze, his hazel-green gaze staring at the boy reflected in the water. He was young, seventeen, with long, lank black hair that hung around his face and covered his eyes. He frowned, staring at the image before him. He continued to pick up the stone. He closed his eyes as he stood up straight, turning the stone over and over in his palms. He tossed it up and caught it a few times after he opened his eyes. He bent slightly to look at the boy in the water once more. He smirked as he threw the stone into the heart of his reflection. He sighed and turned, walking away.
Myne (A Short Narrative)
May 12, 2010