Wednesday, 1 March 2017

Luna's Grace

© Denis Fitzpatrick, 2014

‘The Universe is aware.’ Deiyl Fillem




Deiyl Fillem did not in the slightest attribute Luna’s sudden appearance in his imagination, with her well-formed rump to the fore, to his diagnosed schizophrenia. In fact he thought it was his due, the natural result of his unique twenty-five years’ perspective, albeit a recently mentally ill perspective, upon a world that was crazier than he was. Deiyl of course denied that he was schizophrenic despite the evidence of over ten admissions to nearby Rozella Psychiatric Hospital. He put his mental aberrations down to his poetic, artistic nature.
    He was in his squat one night shortly after the start of 2014’s warm winter, in Redferne, Sydney, Aus, a land that crazy Deiyl thought was the natural twin to another such beautiful land in a parallel universe, smoking cigarette after cigarette and staring into his disordered mind while taking an occasional sip from a bottle of port. When her rump made its first appearance to his imagination, enticingly clad in a small, sheer pair of white silk underwear, Deiyl knew instantly that his luck had turned. Luna’s image then gradually formed in his mind, with her back to him and looking at him invitingly over her right shoulder. She was a well formed lady, with long blond hair and Dutch facial features, well able to carry her alluring derrière. He could not see her breasts but her smile, promising, aching, promised a similar largesse in their cherry red rosebud beauty. Deiyl stubbed out his cigarette.
    ‘Hello, Deiyl,’ She crooned, ‘I’ve been waiting for such an original stud like you for so many, many eons. Like what you see?’
    ‘Yes. Yes indeed; such a curvy rump as that must be insured. Who are you?’
    ‘Luna. Your local Moon.’
    ‘They say now that you’re in fact a small planet.’
    Luna turned around to face him, her large indeed breasts disappointingly housed in a pure white silk brassiere. She sat down in front of him, her legs slightly apart and curved under her.
    ‘I am a small planet, Deiyl, and a woman, a woman who can no longer spend endless time without satisfying her growing primal urges.’ Deiyl was speechless for a minute or two, watching Luna idly rubbing her thighs, her head cocked to her right, and smiling hopefully at him.
    ‘You mean . . . .’
    ‘Yes, Deiyl, I’ve become a real woman and need you, need you, so badly. We can make the stars shine so much brighter if you’re willing.’ It didn’t take Deiyl long to decide.
    ‘Well if you take off that bra it’ll be easier for me to decide.’
    ‘Not now, sweetie, let’s get to know each other properly first. Do you mind if I remain in this petite underwear?’
    ‘Not at all; they’re fantastic.’
    ‘Well then, sweetie, let’s have a nice intimate dinner. And I’ll let you feel my breasts first so you’ll know they’re all natural.’ They were natural all right.
    So this was how Deiyl spent the next couple of weeks, talking with the scantily clad Luna at every available opportunity, drinking with her, eating with her, playing with her in every imaginable way as often as he could. Deiyl was in fact falling in love, his very first love, and Luna did all in her power to enflame that desire as brightly as she could.
    The next full of the moon came around in its natural course and Luna’s ‘primal urges’ were at their fullest. She duly let Deiyl know.
    ‘Have you any plans tonight, Deiyl?’
    ‘Being with you is all I’ve got planned for the rest of my life.’
    ‘Well, tonight’s the night, Deiyl, the night when we see just how much we fulfil each other. And I’m sure you’re the complete, full throbbing man like I’ve imagined. And imagine you I have.’ Deiyl blushed.
    ‘And rightly too should you blush, Deiyl, you so very sexy young stud, if you knew just how much I’ve teased myself about you when we’re apart, rubbing my so, so sensitive parts so firmly, stroking them as my moaning thickens, lusting for you, Deiyl, so very much needing such a firm, strong and sure man like yourself, your bright blue eyes, your naturally well-formed physique, neither skinny not muscly, those beautiful, clean, thick long dreadlocks. Oh, Deiyl!’ Luna paused a short while, gathering her breath. She then resumed,
    ‘Take out one of those sexy zines under your mattress, Deiyl, and expend your lust in my name sometime today. I say so so we can spend all night tonight in finding each other’s deepest breath, moving together in perfect, satiated rhythm, delving, feeling each other’s earth move towards a mutual burst of utter ecstasy.’ Deiyl didn’t need to be asked twice.
    This expected burst of mutual rapture was duly achieved that night and both Deiyl and Luna approached the darkening of the moon in long nights of bliss, Deiyl sleeping during the day to keep up with his hungry vixen. Some of his time awake was usually spent in the only armchair of his squat writing love poetry in a hand-sized notebook. His unbounded joy in loving Luna expressed itself well, the best poetry he felt that he’d ever written, and with a bottle of Irish whiskey now instead of the cheap port. He’d bought a glass tumbler for it after a recommendation by Luna one night after their driving, flowing torrent of passion. The sophisticated glass made him feel even more of a real man.
    Two days after the first consummation of their desires Deiyl began to gain even more from their loving: he was now able to see the futures of all those around him, the passers’-by, the shopkeepers’, his few friends’, everyone that he came into contact with.
    The feeling was supremely divine, undoubtedly sure of the consequences of others’ every action and accurately predicting the results. Naturally he eventually turned this prescience towards his dearest Luna and himself.  The resultant desolation he witnessed forced a deep and strong sob against his will, the sudden explosion of despair he instinctively and with difficulty controlled.
    Surely things wouldn’t work out that bad?
   But yes, they would, Deiyl had seen it with the same vision that he had accurately foreseen his friends’ futures eventuate. He had seen his sweetest desire, fathomless and loving Luna, locked within herself, drained of all joy, barren, hollow and empty, too deeply despairing to cry throughout the remainder of time. Her emptiness had come in the wake of his death, his natural mortal death, so very brief in the eyes of countless eons, yet the prick of complete woe for Luna.
    Deiyl turned from the image and got up from his armchair where he’d been practicing his prescience. He too was now feeling the insidious creep of desolation.
    He simply must leave her.
    As a gentleman Deiyl felt that he simply could not allow this woe to come to fruition, to create such sadness to the only one he’d ever loved so purely and essentially. Certainly it was his first love and there were other fish in the sea but Deiyl had always said he would only ever allow himself to fall in love with the one woman, to love, honour, and guard above and beyond his abilities.
    He now, soon after another waxing moon had begun, had to let his love know that their passion must, must, must be sundered.
    ‘I cannot live then, Deiyl; thine heart is too entwined with mine own,’ Luna responded to Deiyl’s revelation.
    ‘I’ve shown you how I can really predict others’ futures; you know I’m not lying, or delusional. I’m sorry, so very, very sorry, Luna, but our affair tends to thine despair and desolation.’
    Luna knew he was right. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that she could do.
    ‘Let me then, Deiyl, choose that pain and sorrow: its counterpoint joy assuredly balances the endless angst?’
    ‘You know that’s not true, Luna. You are really facing endless ashes, unending sorrow. Our love the cause.’
    ‘So mine love is to be returned nevermore?’
    ‘Nevermore, Luna.’
    Deiyl then watched his well robed lady waft away before his imagination, bound to return only to the result of her infinite anguish. He allowed himself to sob this time.
    Luna was Deiyl’s one true love, which so few of us experience, and that night he, alone in bed, vowed to 
never name the word ‘love’ upon his lips. He never did name that grace again but at least Luna, his prescience with him throughout his ninety-five single years, was not bound to endless unable-to-be-shed tears. At least.


~~~

If you have been enjoying Fitzpatrick's stories here you may also enjoy his short story collections, and other books, available online as both Kindle books and
paperbacks (go to http://amzn.to/1NfodtN). Other ebook and paperback options are available at  http://bit.ly/1UsyvKD Fitzpatrick is also having a collection of short stories, Aberrant Selected, published by Waldorf Publishing in 2018.

No comments:

Post a Comment