Hidden Motives (Larry Stylinson)

Standing there amongst a field of purple, like a rock, as the sea envelopes him in its purple elegance, was breath taking. He stood there with the pride of a prince, but with sorrow of one who lost something close to them. He never once looked away from the sky, as the wind whipped through the field of flowers, scattering its pedals in a dance around him, long wool jacket flapping in the breeze. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was crying and smiling at the same time, as those pedals fell around his feet.

If I was a photographer I would have used him as my muse, if I was a painter, I would have painted this scene before me; but I was neither, a lowly writer from a poor family, I knew no one, therefore I could get no where in my profession.

My life changed that day with a once upon a time start, a street rat with nothing to his name falling upon royalty that gave me everything my life needed. A fairy tale, a story you would read, that was my life, except one thing, I did write it. I wrote about this man in the field, about his life, his struggles, his love, and sorrow. Little did I know that writing a simple story would have you wrapped around their little finger.

I became obsessed with the man in the field, and I pushed too far, I shattered the breath taking picture of that day, pushing him as far away from me as possible.

I stood there today, in the same field, flowers yet to bloom as I heard the deep laugh erupt behind me. I turned to see him in front of me, except this time his anger destroyed the beauty of the land.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” he shook his head in disappointment, hand covering his eyes, not letting me see his true emotions, “I’m a real fool, ain’t I?”

“No you are not.” I whispered out sorrowfully.

“You know I believed everything you said?”

“Yes.” I looked at the flowers destroyed beneath my feet like it was the most interesting thing.

“Yet you still lied to me.” I could hear the disgust in his voice.

“I’m sorry Lou…”

“Don’t call me that!” he snapped, “No sorry can fix what you just did to me!”

I cringed at his tone, he was right; no amount of apologies could fix this mess I landed myself in.

“Don’t come around anymore. I hope this bought you everything you wanted!” he tossed the book down at my feet, as they fell into a bed of flowers, the cover taunting my mistakes, “Have a good life, Harry.” He spat and walked away.
I looked up as he marched through the field of purple, taking everything that was amazing with him. I was a wealthy man now, except I didn’t have what I wanted, what I wanted was now gone, disappeared amongst the sunny summer day.

Notes