Starlings and the heron

I wrote this story, to make the reader feel something through my storytelling, this is actually the prologue to a larger more in-depth novel I am currently in the process of writing.

• Romance
• Short story
• Fiction

								
my mother used to speak of the stars and how they foretold the stories of old, through their wise wrinkled mouths weaving tales of past battles, victories, and loves... Enoch rests his head on my chest. "Do you think the stars will remember our love?" The river flows downstream quietly, imbuing the air with tranquility. I caress his silky auburn locks, running my hand over his features with tender fingertips, locking my gaze with his penetrating green eyes. He closes his eyes, puckering his soft pink lips for a kiss.
Playfully, I push his head away, smacking my lips with a teasing smile. He falls dramatically into the tall grass, clutching his head like he's in some grand tragedy. "I presume," I say, tapping my chin in mock contemplation, lips pursed, "that when we go to glory, we will become stars, lighting up the sky with the brilliance of our eternal love," I declare with a cheeky grin. Enoch snickers, "You're so trite," he mutters, blushing despite himself. "And you adore every bit of it," I tease, grabbing his pale chin with my thumb and forefinger. "Yes," he finally breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, "I suppose I do."



The soft bristling and flowing of the wind pass through the branches of the old elm tree, its long leaves almost tickling my forehead. My mind starts to wander.
 I've always yearned for a life like this. Since the days of my youth, I have been confined to the walls of the palace and the burdens of royalty—the weight of impending responsibility, which, when thought about, constricts my breathing, forces my throat closed, and clouds my mind with anxiety. I've always been conspicuous. I've never conformed to the wishes of the crown, the people, or my father. I've always stood apart from what the royal family should look like. What would they think of me if they saw me now? Worry starts to grip me as I feel about the impending repercussions of our love, what they will do to Enoch... I seek solace in the earth, I lay hold of the blades of grass that I lay upon and ground myself, calming my racing heart beneath the clear night sky. Closing my eyes, gasping for breath through my nostrils, I look down at my love and the world becomes quiet, and my anxiety washes away, and the world comes to center. I bury my heavy head next to his, his hot nonchalant breath comforts the tip of my nose, in his presence I am safe. And in this realization, the world begins to drift.
I am awakened from my slumber by the warbles and whistles of the starling. I wipe the fresh morning dew off of my eyebrows. Enoch is still sleeping. I bury my face in his hair, taking a big whiff (his hair smells of stillness and fresh-baked dough), waking him in the process. "What are you doing?" he queries, with a sheepish grin. "N-nothing, what a wonderful morning," I say, squinting at the horizon, attempting to change the subject. "Oh yes, indeed," Enoch shakes his head in playful agreement, "a beautiful morning," he says with a chuckle as he stares into my eyes. He stands up, ruffling my hair while he uses my head as support the pressure of his hand is a comforting reminder that I am not alone. My mouth makes an exaggerated circle, and a small gasp leaves my mouth. " oh! Was that necessary?" I protest. Enoch doesn't respond but instead lets out a playful wink, and bolts towards the river, diving head first. 
As I reminisce about this moment a bass voice breaks drawing me away and back into the reality that I am not bitter to confront “Silas William Vanchosenhouser you have been ordered to die by the king and the power of the church for HIGH TRESON AND SODOMY” do you accept the charges that have been granted.  I d..do the words hurt on the way out I place my head on the chopping block It is cold and wet front of me is a straw basket filled with the spirits of those who came before me and their remains. The executioner raises his ax. I look up to the sky before closing my eyes three herons circle the heavens spectators to my death.
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