Ephemeroptera

Prose by Olly Lovatt

Stars dance on the surface of the river. The water sways gently beneath me, barely moving, like the emerald leaves that drift lazily in the summer breeze. Darkness, an eternity below, holding me, while I wait.

Waiting for the rays to smother me in their freeing heat. I can smell the river as it leaves my body in whispers. I see others around me, also waiting. I watch as their yellow wings begin to unstiffen as they’re slowly unburdened by the river’s heavy load.

I stretch mine, feeling them fan around me. They flap feebly, desperate to take me away from the surface to the prosperity of the riverbank. I have to wait longer. No matter. I have all the time in the world.

Something dark glides below. I take little notice. The world sparkles with colour, life hums and buzzes around me. I care little for where I came from. Only for the world that shouts and screams so joyfully. Screams for me to join in its splendour. I take flight.

Limping into the sky, rising and dipping above the river. I feel fear beating my wings to beat faster. The oblivion beckoning me to rejoin it. Moisture slithering skywards, whispering how it misses me, longing for my body to sink back into its depths.

I make the bank, legs trembling as they settle on a verdant pole. My skin begins peeling away, lifelessness being stripped away from life, dead cells knowing they can travel no further. I wait.

Soaring into the sky, golden wings waxing in the sunlight, I head towards the others, who dance in a cloud of merriment. The moment I enter, I feel the pulsating of wings, the rhythm vibrating through me, hundreds harmonised into one being. I flutter with joy, the river a distant memory that no longer belongs to me.

Then I see her. Flirting alone against the blue sky.

Deaf to the buzzing of life, I only hear her wings. Greyness covers the world, only she, an arrow of gold, dazzles with colour.

Then she turns towards me. Floating like an eagle feather.

I begin to see the others. Blurred creatures coming back into focus, seeking to pluck her, their ugly hands grasping at her shaft. But she’s mine, she’s already mine. I only see her, and she only sees me. I dart at her, a sensation washing over me. Grasping her, strong limbs subduing her easily, bending her to my will. The sensation oozes out of me, filling her, then she’s gone.

A dying ember of a thought wants to catch her again, but it would be like grasping at dust. I watch her go as the swirling cloud becomes dizzying, the buzzing deafening. I return to the bank.

She becomes a golden statue on the river. The dancing stars swim together into one bright light, as a shroud of frost is pulled over me, lulling me to sleep.

To dream of yellow wings.