Title: One With the Waves
Author: Dragoni
Date:  5.29.01
Series: Original
A/N: Depressing little short... elaboration on a scene that sat on my desktop for weeks before I could figure out what to do with it.

     The waves on the lake are beautiful at night. I like to watch them with my eyes closed. That sounds like it makes no sense. But it's true... I can see them through other senses. I can hear them breaking on the rocks behind me and below me and I know how fast they are moving. I feel the wind raking through my hair and know which way they are moving today.
     I can feel the cold iron bar beneath my hands, a guard rail to keep people from leaving the pier and jumping into the water. I've lived around here all of my life, though. The rails aren't nearly high enough to honestly prevent someone from climbing over. They've only a few bars anyway, perfectly spaced for footrests. It's more aesthetically pleasing this way, without so much cold red metal breaking into your view of the lake.
     People around here are very concerned with things being aesthetically pleasing. Not that I mind, of course. There's an almost calming effect to the false order they coerce Nature into. Perfectly placed to the last falling leaf.
     But raw nature just has some sort of power... man-made will never be able to rival its regularly erratic pattern.
     Sometimes I miss this during the school year - my parents send me away to a wonderful boarding school, one of the best in the country. Unfortunately, it's landbound, surrounded for miles by forests and farms.
     I wish I could bottle up this peaceful feeling that surrounds me here, keep a little box of the damp breezes and harsh rocks. I want to feel them forever. But that's impossible, as impossible as flight.
     That's been the other dream I've always kept, even though I know it sounds foolish. I want to be able to fly. Not like pilots, safe in their planes, protected from the very air. Like birds, reveling in the slightest breeze through my hair.
     I can see a storm, moving quickly across the lake. The lightning flashes so sharply, a miniature strobe that lends an unearthly feel to the air around me. I love storms. They're the most perfect expression of emotion, turmultuous and beautiful. Powerful. Strong.
     The winds reach me first, playing with my hair and whipping it around my face, but the rains are not far behind. They pound around me, their constant pressure comforting. Together, the two infuriate the waves beneath me, which leap and rage at the surrounding rocks in an impotent fury, trying to escape.
     I know that they can't. They're trapped in place, secured for an eternity to be watched and admired by pilgrims to Nature's shrine. Like me.
     A random flash of lightning overhead illuminates their beautiful struggle, their cries momentarily drowned by the swiftly following rumble.
     I want to be closer to them.
     My jacket is sodden, though, and as I scramble under the lowest rail, it catches on some hidden snag. I shrug it off, and the rain attacks my T-shirt with a peculiar frenzy. I am soaked to the skin before I finish standing. But I don't care. It feels good, the fabric clinging to me like a lover, disturbed only by an occasional strong gust of wind.
     From my place, clinging to the guard rails like a lost child, I can hear a faint voice, screaming challenges to the sky. Daring the storm to its worst. Laughing at the thunder's response.
     I do not immediately recognize the voice as my own, though the discovery does not surprise me. As I said before: I have always loved storms. They bring out my most extreme reactions, with the most magical results. I can do anything in a storm.
     I bet I can even fly, on these winds. I don't even have to think about it. It just feels natural as my hands release the cold metal bar behind me and I step out onto the turbulent air before me.
     It feels wonderful to fly... The wind fights me, embraces me. It twines through my fingers and plays with my hair. Gentle, insistent pressure plays with my clothes, molding them to me. I love this sensation. I want to feel it forever. The roaring of the waves grows louder, closer, and I force my shocked eyes open.
     Why can I only fly down?
     Before an answer comes, a sharp pain immobilizes me. I must be as the mermaid now, only foam on the water. The thought brings a red smile to my lips as I surrender my world to an unrelenting darkness I never recalled before.

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