Two figures sat on a dock overlooking a glass lake. The full moon shone overhead, enhancing the beauty of all it's silver light reached. Even though it was the middle of the night, the lake and it's surroundings, as well as the two still figures, were bathed in a silvery glow. The lake reflected pinpricks of light far above the Earth. It was summer, and the couple could feel a warm, light breeze, just strong enough that it gently blows their hair, but not strong enough to rustle the ivory trees. The ground, though ordinary dirt and pebbles, became a slab of silver. Tiny, living stars, a lot closer to the couple than the ones in the sky, hovered around the lake, flashing their tiny lights for the visitors. And though all of this was beautiful, it was the pair that sat on the dock that drew the most attention. They didn't look like anything spectacular. The shorter one, a slim brunette, was resting his head on the other's shoulder. The brunette had eyes of amethyst, deep, wise. The other one had hair that matched the light of the moon. His eyes were of rubies, passionate, impulsive. They held hands, and stared out onto the pool of silver stretching out before them. It seemed as if the night had decided to indulge this couple, and had created the perfect picture. But perfection can only last so long. Clouds were gathering at the end of the sky, beginning to block out the pearly light. Much like the couple was being smothered by the rest of the world. Couples such as them had no place in Germany in 1940. They had tried. Tried to escape. But that's easier said than done. They knew they didn't have much more time left. The albino would live. He would say he was straight, lie his way to freedom. But the Austrian leaning on his shoulder wouldn't. He was Jewish, and no amount of lying would change that. The white haired man rested his arm around the musician's bony shoulders. The Prussian glared up at the moon. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he could lie his way out of Nazi Germany's borders, but his boyfriend couldn't. It wasn't fair that people were being slaughtered without mercy. It wasn't fair that mothers, husbands, sons, daughters, boyfriends, girlfriends, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers were being ripped apart and the moon had the audacity to shine upon this cursed country, trying to cover up the layers of blood in a shine of silver. The man was brought back to Earth by a pianist's hand resting on his shoulder, trying to steady him. He hadn't even realized that he was crying, shoulders shaking in silent fits, rivers of pearl streaming down his silver cheeks. No words were spoken, but the Austrian could tell why the silverette was grieving. He cuddled the breaking man to his chest, humming a soft melody. The brunette had already grieved. For the others, as well as himself. He had accepted his fate. A gay, Jewish, musician would be sent straight to the showers. No labor camps for him. He thought himself lucky, in a sense. He didn't have any false hopes. He wouldn't work for days, weeks, months, years, only to die without ever seeing outside the barbed wire. But now wasn't the time to dwell on such thoughts. Now was the time to create tender memories, to hold onto when times got tough. Eventually, the albino stopped crying. He laid on his back with his head in the Austrian's lap, staring into his violet eyes. They sparkled, reflecting all that was good in the world. But they had a shine to them, the shine of unshed tears, with faint black half circles underneath them. The Prussian knew, that for all of the Austrian's claims that he was fine, and had accepted his fate, he was breaking on the inside just as much as the albino was on the outside. He could feel the usually steady, composed fingers trembling as they threaded through his hair. The clouds were getting closer now. The trees were become black. The ground was returning to dirt. There was only a small circle of moonlight left, falling onto the couple and a section of of the lake. Looking back into the Austrian's eyes, he could tell that he too had noticed these changes. It was almost time for them to return to the sick world they called home. But not for long. Within the next week, one would be off across the Atlantic. And the other would be with the very stars they were looking at now. The Prussian got up first. He stretched, facing into the moonlight. He reached out a hand, and the Austrian accepted it, pulling himself up. Together, they walked away from their paradise for the last time as the clouds covered up the moon.
Author's note
Well, here's my first story! The saying goes "a picture is worth a thousand words." So does that mean a thousand words is worth a picture? I can't draw, so this is me trying to create a picture. I hope you saw something, and not just black and white text. I might do more stories similar to this one, and so constructive criticism is very much appreciated!