Into The Light

He watched her walk back into the light, as always his heart broke a little, wondering if this would be the last time he’d watch her leave.

They’d met here, in this place between the light and darkness, every year for a thousand years. He still remembered the time they’d first met. It had been here, or somewhere very much like it, they’d both been sent to observe some significant event in human history, the city had been changing hands once again. Observe, but don’t interfere, that was always the instruction. So they’d waited, and with nothing to do but talk, the unlikeliest of friendships began. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, as were all of her kind, but there was something more that had drawn him to her, something deeper within that spoke to some rebellious feeling inside his heart.

He’d returned a year later, he was never sure why, and yet he found her there, waiting for him. So they talked, as they talked every time they met. They shared a love of art, and a fascination with the fact that a race so predisposed to destruction and savagery could have the capacity to create works of such transcendent beauty. They rarely talked about the war, about the things that separated them, except for a short exchange, which was almost word for word the same every year.

“We’ve both read the book, you know, we know how it ends,” she would smile and say to him.

“The ravings of a mad man,” he would laugh. “We both know they’ll never be ready for the return, if he came back now they’d just kill him again, and his so-called followers would be the first in line to string him up.”

She would always agree, and the conversation would naturally turn to something else. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about and, after a millennium, he supposed they never would. She was so easy to talk to, so easy to be with, and that just made the fact that they could never really be together that much harder to bear. However, the thought of an endless existence without these little moments with her was unbearable, and he could see in her eyes that she felt so too.

The time always passed so quickly between them. They both knew that if they spent too long together they’d be missed, and questions would be asked. As much as they wanted….no…not wanted…needed to be together, he couldn’t live in her world, nor could she live in his.

He watched her walk back into the light, his lips still burning from his angel’s kiss.

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Ian Sharman
Ian is a freelance writer and artist. He founded Orang Utan Comics Studio with Peter Rogers in 2006, writes for their Eagle Award Nominated anthology Eleventh Hour and regularly inks for Panini’s Marvel Heroes comic.
Ian Sharman

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