Her name is Skye, like the Isle of Skye, where she says she was born. I don’t know if that’s true, or if it’s really her name, but I choose to believe her. She smokes clove cigarettes that are fragrant and make her lips sweet when I kiss her.
Her old army jacket is olive drab and stiff and unwashed. She said it was her dad’s, from when he was in Vietnam. Its pockets hold her treasures and her contraband, and those precious cigarettes.
We are in Virginia, deep in the woods, on a cool April morning, and she’s talking about portals and bat winged demons and fallen bridges and magic that can save us from what comes when the next century starts in five more Septembers.
She is singing, singing a fairie song. It makes me feel cold and at peace, like looking up at the clear and wide open sky, a late night clear in the depths of winter. It is the song of another race, another world.
She pauses to light another cigarette, and it’s scent alights a memory, and that special sweet taste on my lips. The first time I kissed her. The first night she chose me. The first night all was at peace in me.
She takes a drag, turns her head, smiles at me. She takes my hand. We walk to the top of a hill were the forest thins out to a circle. Nothing grows, just black greyish dirt. She pulls me by the hand to its center.
From somewhere in the three kingdom of her jacket pockets, she pulls out a knife, made of stainless steel. She says she can touch no iron. She opens it. She tells me to open my palm. I look her in the eye, and do not flinch, when she slices open my palm.
She slices open her own palm. We clasp our hands together, and our blood mixes. This is the ceremony that binds me to her, and to her kind, forever. I feel such warmth and peace. I see such beauty in her and in this broken, misbegotten world. I see what could be.
She kisses me. I cease to be. Cease to exist. There is warmth and light and the center of the sun. Their is HER, bright and soft and with the best of my dreams, all that I was at my birth before I betrayed the child.
I woke up later in the cold of night. She was gone. I knew I never would see her again. And after that, by my own will and desire, I broke forever. She could not save me. I would never see her again.
“What have we done with sweet innocence?”——Electric Youth, Innocence.