Fantasy in Light and Darkness By Lael Stalnaker
Fragile star light streamers drift down as thin translucent lines. The figure on the shore weaves his hands and the strands spin and whirl. His eyes reflect that pale light as he gathers them carefully into his patient fingers. They swirl and tangle, coalescing into a shimmering construct before his outstretched arms.
A brief gust of wind blows sea foam into glistening droplets that catch on the weft of shining lines. Features emerge as he continues his patient work. The waves lap about his heels, shifting sand from beneath his feet. He notes the sensation, though vaguely. The form taking shape has nearly all of his immediate attention as he strokes the light and water into better position in the air before him.
Loving detail is layered on yet more detail as the image of his dream man comes into being. His will demands his best as he struggles for perfection even nature cannot create. He ponders the line of muscle that frames the groin. He remakes the curve of lip, softening the last expression into sweetest of smiles. Special attention is given to the bridge of the nose, neither too straight, nor too shallow. The jaw becomes squared, imparting strength. Hair flows to mid-shoulder in barely curling waves. Even the dream's manhood is perfect in his eyes.
The moon crosses the horizon and throws it's own special gift onto the illusion. As its silvery beams hit the faint figure, it grows brighter. Each caught drop of water glitters and adds to the light. Soon it is more radiant than that which gave it birth. Its maker stands still at last, caught within a spell of his own making. How many can say that they have seen their inner desires made visible? How many would take the time to see to every detail, every single thing that makes a fantasy special and all the more desirable?
The living man leans forward and breathes out softly. The blown air dances onto the skin of fantasy and enters. Eyes open and blink in astonishment. A shy smile graces the peerless face and transforms it further. The living man's heart pounds as he sees the evidence of his work come alive. He rejoices in the reflection of his own longing. The fantasy knows desire too, plainly evidenced by a shifting of his naked form. The living man smiles too at that.
He drops aside his simple robe and allows the fantasy to appraise him in return. Shining eyes widen a little and the smile becomes a grin. His maker's desire is as obvious as his own. The wind gusts again, throwing more water to the shore. The living man's back now glistens too, trails of wet sliding along his well- formed body. Fantasy's hand leaves its side and beckons his maker closer. The maker smiles sadly and nods.
They lean in close together and bring their faces in for a kiss. For the briefest of eternities, they meet. Ethereal bliss enfolds them both so poignantly. Then comes the heartbreak. Light unravels and water falls. Fantasy looses cohesion in the face of reality. A dream is spun, but to the universe returns after the fulfillment of destiny. Only one kiss did the living man receive before his spell came undone. His eyes close, savoring the memory of the flash in time, when his fantasy's lips touched his own. The wetness lingers there still.