Writer's Island Fork in the Road

My little piece for Writer's Island on the theme “A fork in the road”.

A FORK IN THE ROAD

The moon was full that night, and the haze of heat hung heavy over the island… indeed, the clouds seemed to touch the mountain tops and to scratch them. As I walked along the dusty road, the silence of the night seemed to enclose me completely… I could still hear vaguely the distant Greek music from the bar which I’d just left. My boots creaked gently as I moved them back and forth, the gentle clinking sound of the buckles creating their own music.

Something on the road ahead suddenly caught my eye, glinting in the moonlight with a strange incandescence. It looked like something unearthly, something totally unrecognisable. As I approached and bent down to pick it up, I could feel the layers of heat rubbing softly against the skin of my bare arm, and the texture of the sensation lulled me, calmed me. As my fingers clutched around the metal object and lift it reluctantly from its resting place, I can tell right away that it’s nothing but a piece of cutlery. I turn it round and round between my fingers without believing it - what on earth is a fork doing out here?

As I heard the car and saw it’s bright headlights, I stood up slowly. The car was an open top one - perfectly suited to this place. The man inside the car opens his door and steps outside, looking at me curiously. The night silence still hangs heavy all around… and I still clutch the fork to my side, turning it very slowly around.

“Are you alright? Is anything wrong?” The man asked. I notice the slight accent touching his words… making another soft music.

“I’m alright… I just found this.” Taking a few steps towards the man, I hold out the metal object towards him. He takes it slowly and laughs very gently, he sounds like the sea.

“The original fork in the road, eh? Well… can I offer you a lift?”

I turn my face up into the full light of the moon, so that it bathes me completely and runs over my arms like a river, a gentle shower of warm rain. As I begin to move towards the car I’m aware once again of the jangling of the buckles on my boots. I heave open the car door and step inside.

“Yes,” I said, “take me towards the sea.”

Silently, he climbs beside me and switches on the headlights once again, though we don’t need them as the moon is still so very bright.