Scarecrow Blues
The title was chosen as part of a Literary Society exercise wherein one drew a phrase from a hat which everybody had contributed to, and then used the phrase as the title for a piece of work. This was written after toying with a very literal interpretation of a scarecrow that sung the blues. I think that I put in Electric Golden Arrows.
The clouds seemed to part and the Sun's heat beat down upon her face. She closed her eyes and waited for the lids to stop glowing so she might see again. Eventually the light was muted and when she looked out once more the landscape was bleached by sudden exposure, draining it of all colour. Soon enough the reds and browns crept back, followed by green and blue and all the rest.
It had turned out to be a fine day. The clouds, normally flat and listless in these parts, were unusually vibrant of colour and form. Unblemished white branches leapt emotively from dark bodies that loomed impotently, completely without the feeling of an approaching rain.
Turning her head back and to the right she gazed at the many different shapes in the infinite sky. For the first time in her life, they seemed to manifest into recognisable imitations of real objects. Here was a Jaguar, leaping from the brush, there a castle was under siege until the wind changed and it's walls fell to the invaders. In between these a plane glided effortlessly, some twenty thousand feet above. And a lot closer to ground a hawk hovered, still against the creeping sky.
Even closer to ground, her love from afar strolled through the park, where she was seated on a bench, as he did almost every day. He approached her and her heart quickened, with an expected suddenness any and all words left her mind. With ridiculous ease he said "Hallo," as he recognised her. All she could find was an ill-pitched "Hi!" along with a short wave. She thought she saw him smile, if only for a moment, and then he passed with a slight nod and a spoken "Must get on."
He left the park and she collapsed forward. They met occasionally elsewhere but the encounters were almost universally brief, and with a bordered awkwardness that left a soul-crushing depression. Tied by her own fear, all she felt able to do was stand back and watch. Prohibited by doubt of any action beyond an unwavering presence. But she dreamt. Oh how she dreamt.
She saw countless lifetimes, with a single external constant. In each one they danced. The dreams were so real she could almost feel all the twists and swirls and whorls as they pirouetted about each other. Falling, gliding, and soaring, gloriously into an imagined future.
The night passed with these plans, dreams and hopes; and with morning came a resolution. The fates would give a sign today or she would give it all up. If a sign came she would say something, anything, just to clear the air, her mind and heart. The morning passed lazily but with a ghastly haste that did little to relieve her apprehension.
The moment was building, and the pressure seemed to rise as before a terrible storm and she felt more alert, more perceptive. She felt the gaps in the bench indent her legs; the gentle breeze left one side of her considerably more cool than the sun-kissed other; her lips were tightened by every intake of breath, before momentary release from the exhale. Chirping and rustling came from birds in the nearby tree while motorcars on the street, muffled by distance and buildings, droned lightly, like a solitary bee.
She sat where she always did, paralysed in expectation for over an hour, but he never appeared. So this was the sign, to forget it all, the dreams, thoughts and emotions, overcome by this realisation her head sunk and she stared at the pebbles on the pathway beneath her feet. To the left some of the grass was encroaching off the lawn and was silently flourishing in the rocks under the bench. for a while she sat like that, leaning forward and watching over this slight growth, a life completely within her sight.
As she left she tore it up from it's spot and threw it into a bin half-heartedly. Her lips were dry and she felt thirsty so before heading home she found her way to a bar. Raising a glass to lost dreams she was about to drink when a hand lightly tapped her shoulder. What cruel play of fate would possibly interrupt her now? She turned and saw him standing there looking nervous. She gave an unnoticeable gasp, and he allowed himself to talk. And he asked her, if she would like to dance.