This was a gift for the fabulous Ventisquear and her equally wonderful Airam Surana of 'Failed to Fail' and 'Leather and Ice.' Inspired by the detail from John William Waterhouse's 'Echo & Narcissus.' (Air-ified version to be found at: jbyrd123. deviantart dot com /gallery/35622371#/d4zm0ud ).
Airam Reflecting
.o0o.
The length of cloth, suited more to serve as window dressing than toweling, was stubbornly non-absorbent. Airam gave up smearing the wet around his skin (stupid ugly white skin) to scrub at his hair. It's grown out already – time to chop the horrible stuff off again. Ugh – fine! With a muttered imprecation that would have had Gran pursing her lips, he dropped his arms. Let the breeze do it. No one's around to see. Not like there's anything worth looking at anyway – not like I'm, oh, Zev, all gold and style and confident strength. Just the clown-colored, pitiful, mage-monster, that can't even carry his own pack or walk in the direct sun without frying.
He kicked irritably at the broad-brimmed farmer's hat and flung himself prone on the embankment, catching himself with an unknowing grace that was absent a mere month before. And he keeps saying I'm – he keeps - like I'm - worthwhile. Me! Whatever for? Is he blind? He raised his hand for a moody slap at the water and paused.
The shaded surface painted his reflection in opaque tones. Slope of shoulder, glimpse of back. Mouth and jaw set in determination. Eyes filled with hurt, wonder, and humor. No dramatic, unnatural whites or purples – just a transparent clarity of line and contrast. Just Airam Surana.
Air.
Himself.
Is that what he sees . . .
A water-strider skated across the image and he blinked, tossing his head to shift a lock of the despised hair.
And he calls ME crazy.
He lowered his hand and gently stirred the water to banish the picture, trying without success to ignore the voice which whispered, equal parts resignation and hope, through the barricades heaped around his soul.
Maybe . . . just maybe . . .
.o0o.