At the first Creative Writing workshop at my local library, back at the beginning of the year, one of the exercises was to write down a literary genre, and the first line of a short story. My two didn’t really have much in common to begin with, but here is how I managed to create a Military Fiction short story that begun, thus:
“His eyes were as blue as sapphire jewels, piercing through my body, making my head swim.” …
Seen across a restaurant it could have been perfect, But nothing ever is. The soft glow of candle light shouldn’t have been coming from the burning buildings. Red wine should be savoured, not shed so generously. Don’t even ask about the smell of cooking flesh.
Across the Battlefield, if you could call it a battle, more like a massacre. Across the field he is looking for me. Those blue eyes, red with rage. Eyes I have been searching for myself, but if he sees me again I won’t just lose myself in them, I lose full stop.
It seems strange that at my most scared, I’m also at my most yearning. Or maybe it’s more normal than I think. I’ve been trained not look at their faces. To seem them, to aim, but not to look.
But before training comes instinct. The instinct to hide my desires. Forever combining yearning with fear, one and the same.
And so here I am. I run away from a misunderstanding family, to people who promised me support, brotherhood. Guess I shouldn’t miscount safety.