A Shooting Star Explodes in the Night

Mallory hesitated at the shore end of the pier, watching Gwen’s silhouette watching the sunset at the edge. She pattered across the wood, dodging the jagged boards, leaving warm, wet footprints in her wake. She scrunched up the bottom of her jeans and slumped beside Gwen, the warm brown of her hair turning golden in the dwindling sunlight, and smiled softly at her. The air smelled of dirt, sweat, and, overwhelmingly, of oranges. 

Neither of them said a word, but Gwen handed her a peeled segment before taking a messy bite of her half. They sat in silence, their bare toes skimming the water, the air humid in a ridiculous way; a way that feels impossible for a sky so dark and a breeze so light. They watched the sun slowly dip below the skyline. 

Mallory rolled the piece of orange around in her fingers and stared at the eucalyptus trees across the small lake. Their gnarled trunks were covered in delicate layers of bark, a peeling flaky pastry, cream and sage and ochre and stone, lit from behind by the sinking sun. The way they tilted away from and back towards each other, their arms sneaking towards the open sky, tiny limbs branching off and sloping down under the weight of the leaves — it was all too human. They seemed to breathe, in, and out, in and out, and she had a fleeting thought that — if she looked away for a second —  they would shift their gaze to watch her. 

She bit into the chunk of fruit and glanced at Gwen, who seemed equally lost in thought. 

Mallory would never know, but Gwen was also thinking about the trees. She was watching the two closest to the lake and had noticed how one was leaning towards the other, branches reaching out desperately to touch it, while the other was leaning away. 

Gwen had a sense, one she had had many times before, that she was somewhere else. That someone was just filling in for her here, and that one day she would find her real self and be whole. 

A large brown fly landed on her knee. She watched it wander over her skin for a moment, before waving it away into the night. 

It was only when Mallory could no longer see Gwen in the darkness, when their skin began to glow red with mosquito bites, and when the buzz of the cicadas became too much to bear, that Mallory jumped up, extending a hand to Gwen and ignoring her now damp jeans. They walked back to the house together, leaves and dirt coating the bottoms of their feet, still without a word spoken between them. Gwen tossed the orange peels onto the soil before they closed the rickety screen door behind them. 

Gwen lay awake, her eyes burning, concentrating so hard on the ceiling above her that she could see straight through it, straight to the stars above. There was the usual chatter happening around her; the cicadas, the crickets, the frogs. Nothing about this night was any different to any of the nights that had come before, or that would come after. The world was completely still. 

Her hands rose and fell on her chest as she breathed, and she could feel the heat radiating from every part of her body that touched the bed. She let her head fall to one side to watch Mallory sleep beside her, and wondered if any real–life sounds were bleeding into her dreams. The thought comforted her. She liked the idea that the buzzes and chirps and croaks were travelling from her realm to Mallory's dreams, a tether between their realities. She liked the idea that if she spoke aloud Mallory would hear her, even if she couldn’t listen. 

She reached over and flicked on her bedside lamp, its dull glow illuminating the dozens of ugly, clumsy moths darting around the room. Gwen sat up, her head perfectly in line with the small window facing the lake. She let her tired eyes wander over the forest in the distance for a moment before averting her gaze. The trees were loud enough during the day, she did not want to hear what they had to say in the middle of the night.

When she stepped outside; the chattering ceased. The frogs and the bugs were silent; there was no breeze. The only light came from the moon bouncing off the lake, so still it was more black hole than body of water. 

Gwen furrowed her brow, squinting at the water. Ripples had appeared on its surface, slow and gentle at first, but rapidly increasing in intensity. She looked around, confused, before her eyes settled on what lay just beyond the shore.

The trees seemed to be trembling. They were really moving, twitching from side to side, leaves falling to the ground as they shook in place. 

She found her feet taking her in their direction. With every step the trees seemed to grow more and more impatient, more and more excited, whipping their branches from side to side, gnarled roots writhing beneath the soil. Before she knew it, she was so close she could reach out and touch one. And she wanted to, so badly, just to reach out and — 

The branches twisted, creaking and groaning, extending out to her, tiny tendrils of wood wrapping around her fingers, then her wrists, then elbows — pulling her in, climbing up her exposed skin and digging into any divots and ridges across her body. She let herself be pulled, turning back to catch a final glimpse of the house before the arms snaked around her neck, snapping it back towards them, crawling across her mouth, then nose, then eyes, until eventually there was nothing left to grab on to. 

The thrashing settled. The night was silent once more. 

—

Mallory woke from a dreamless sleep. Her body pulled itself into a stretch and she smiled, her eyes closed. Light flooded the house, splashing all over the walls and floor. A fly buzzed lazily from somewhere in the room. The faint scent of oranges hung in the air.