Not too much intro today. You all know my flash group, the Wednesday Briefers. Fortunately, even though life is kicking my butt, yet again, I managed to finish this (It's 11:20 PM right now, but I got it done, darn it!) nice little update to my flash story inspired by one of this week's photo prompts. Enjoy!
Take Flight Part 3
“Fuck.” Birch stared at the aspen groves … or where they
used to be. There’d been a huge a huge stand of the gorgeous trees all along
this small valley. He’d seen their leaves changing, from green to bright orange
and red, on a last hike before he went off to college.
Now they were gone.
Half the stream was choked by broken off logs and mud that
slid down the sloping banks. The sun beat down on his neck as he stood within
the devastated area. He’d been home just a week, thrown into the field by his
bosses to assess the environmental damage done by a logging company that had violated
their agreements and logged in areas they shouldn’t.
Judicious pruning kept the forest healthy; the companies
took out dead trees, thinned thickly forested areas, and made room for new,
younger trees. These guys had taken healthy groves and decimated the tree
population, allowed mechanical equipment too close to the pure water streams, and
created an ecological mess that was impacting a much wider area downstream.
Birch took his camera out of his backpack and documented the
area visually, then sat down on a rough stump and began writing up his report.
He could do it back in the office but why? He’d rather be outside, though Birch
wished he were sitting against the smooth white bark of an aspen tree enjoying
the shade.
The town had changed almost as much as the forest. No longer
quite so small and sleepy, they had two Starbucks and a mall was being built
beside the newly widened interstate that was just five miles outside town
limits.
It almost made him sad. He’d avoided coming home after the
first summer when he’d been unsure if he hoped Sayer would be there, though he’d
never stayed in town during the summers, or if he wanted to avoid him entirely.
He hadn’t been there, and no one had seen him. He’d looked each
year during registration, but he never found Sayer. He’d completely
disappeared, as if he’d fallen off the face of the planet without a trace.
Birch drove back into town, one arm resting out the window.
His back was sticky with sweat; the sultry air didn’t cool the cab of his truck
at all, but he enjoyed the feeling of the wind caressing his skin until it
suddenly died. He pulled into his driveway, already looking forward to a shower
and a cold beer, and then frowned.
Someone was sitting on the porch.
He was suddenly cold.
That long, white hair couldn’t belong to anyone else.
“Son of a bitch.”
***
The fireworks lit inside Sayer as their eyes met. He’d
watched Birch reacquaint himself with the town and then, as always, spend as
much of his time as possible in the forest. That, at least, hadn’t changed.
Those dark blue eyes glared daggers at him. Birch’s teeth
sank into the pink softness of his bottom lip. Sayer wanted to tug it out and
kiss away the marks left by Birch’s anger.
He didn’t move. He’d waited so long, he could wait a few more
minutes as Birch found the angry words that Sayer knew he deserved—even if it
wasn’t his fault. He’d lived like a human, for Sayer, but his magical heritage
had taken him away.
How the hell was he going to explain that?
Birch finally moved. The old truck, the same one he’d bought
before their senior year after working his ass off to earn the money, was
filthy and the door hinges shrieked in protest as the driver side door was
thrown open.
He walked methodically up the walkway to the porch steps.
Sayer expected him to stop, to say something. Instead, Birch didn’t pause or
stop. He kept walking, skirting into the grass to leap up and grab the railing
of the porch in front of the door. He clambered over and was inside with the
door shut and locked, quite audibly as Sayer hard the bolt and chain lock.
Well, fuck.
Sayer stood up and knocked. No answer. He didn’t want to
shout at Sayer, conscious of the humans around them. Sighing, he stepped into
the recess of the porch beside the door that was visible only to someone right
in front of him, and then he was gone.
The window into the second floor bedroom, which was
apparently an office, was open a crack. Sayer easily flowed inside.
Oh man, the water was running; Birch was in the shower
again. Sayer slipped into his bedroom down the hall and gently deposited a gold
box on the pillow, then retreated to the corner.
Birch’s hand fumbled with his towel when he stepped out of
the bathroom and he spied the box.
“Sayer!” He stormed over and picked it up.
“I’m here,” Sayer said as he solidified and materialized in
his corner. The air made the curtains bell out for a brief second.
“Mother fucking Christ on a god damn cracker!” Birch’s face
went deadly pale. “It … you ….” He shook his head.
Sayer knew he had let it all go, including his glamor. His
hair was pure white. He was taller, thinner, but just as strong as his stocky
human form suggested. Strangest of all, at least to Birch, would probably he
his outfit … and the fact that Sayer was royalty.
“Your wings.” Birch stared, his mouth open. He blinked,
tears filling his eyes.
Shit. Sayer had forgotten about those. He tucked the rainbow
wings against his back.
“What are you?”
Sayer ran a hand over his hair. “I’m a fae, Birch, like an
elf, or fair folk.”
“When?” Birch’s questions were breathless.
“When did I become a fae?” Sayer flinched inwardly at the question,
and what his beloved was going to say when he told him, he prayed Birch wouldn’t
ask that. He was not that lucky. He swallowed hard, bile making his throat
burn.
“Always.”
His earlier anger was nothing like the incandescent rage
that sparked in Birch’s eyes.
TBC
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My rating: 
