The Man From St. Ives

This was a story based on a dream, written at six in morning. Things have obviously been changed to make sense to non-dreamers, but the events remain the same.

Obviously I wasn't a girl in my own dream, but she was there and I felt she had the more interesting story to tell. I ended up being the man of shadow.

I heard tell of the trickster from St. Ives long ago, a brilliant man who had somersaulted across from one rooftop to another in a bid to escape his mistress' husband. He was said to have the most unique smile. But he was myth, this man from St. Ives, a folk legend. I never thought I'd meet someone who believed in him.

We were in a bar, the three of us. Do not ask me their names; I had met them in this place and expected to leave them here too, had events not turned out like they did.

One was flash and loud. He wanted the whole world to know just how great he was. The other, quieter, a dark shadow at the corner of the table.

The bar itself was a terrible place: a cabaret club, lit up in places where bars should not be lit. A number of acts sand, danced or tumbled across a tiny, undecorated stage, and the small smattering of polite applause told me that people thought the same of them that I did.

One act was particularly bad: a man who came on to the stage with birds. I would love to tell that he did something more, but that was all it was. A man and his birds, on stage.

I complained loudly at the inadequacy of the entertainment to the barmaid, as she fixed me another drink. She nodded, mournfully, as if she knew how I must feel. We were connected then, two sisters against the world of poor entertainers. It didn't last.

This was when the two men had joined me. At first I thought they would attempt to woo me; in fact, the way the flash man stroked his ego and boasted of past achievements, I am still not sure if that isn't what he was trying to do. But it never really came to fruition, and we just got drunk together.

Conversation drifted from subject to subject with the ease that alcohol brings. The flash man spoke a lot, knowledgeable in a range of things, whilst the shadow man spoke no words at all. Soon we found ourselves discussing myth, and the man from St. Ives. I had a passing knowledge of the story, but the flash filled the rest in.

He was said to be the Casanova that came before Casanova; a lover of many women and even a few men. He was bright and beautiful and the story goes that he was trapped on his mistress' rooftop, unable to turn around for fear of a spear in the back. In an act of agility, the man from St. Ives leaped backwards and landed on the rooftop of the neighbouring house, living to slept around another day.

Our conversation was cut short by a scoff coming from the bar. The bird man had taken a stool nearby, and when the three of us turned to look at him he let us know exactly what he felt about story. It was rubbish and we were foolish to even give it airing. He seem fixed on me, his bile and anger directed towards me. I caught sight of the barmaid and knew that she had told him about my critique of his act. She was a traitor to sisterhood.

The flash man didn't take the disbelief well, and argued back. He'd been drinking fire whiskey, a drink known to raise anger levels and the boasts of the drinker. As if this man needed it.

The conversation battled back and forth, forth and back, going nowhere. The bird wrangler didn't believe that such a leap could ever be made. Flash was adamant it could, if the correct person attempted it. Of course, he was the right person.

It was at this point that the shadow finally spoke. When he did, his voice was as smooth as caramel and made me dizzy.

"Prove it."

That was all he said, all he needed to say. The gauntlet was dropped and Mr. Flash was more than willing to pick it up. Fire Whiskey also has that effect on people.

The fabled rooftop was in the South of France, in a small hamlet by the coast. It would take all night by train to reach it, but to prove a point the man would do anything. He finished the last gulp of his last drink, stood up from his seat and walked out of the bar.

Half of the people in that place came too, curious to know how this story ended. I tagged along too. I had nowhere else in the world to be now, so why not walk away with a story to tell.

On the train, I found myself sat next to the shadow of a man. He spoke more, when it was just the two of us, but the abundance of words didn't make them less sweet or less dizzying. He spoke of beautiful places and fairy stories, and never once mentioned himself.

At sunrise, we found ourselves pulling into the most picturesque little place. The famous building was a five minute walk from the station, but I remember little of it. The shadow man's voice is all that inhabits my memory.

Many of the bar patrons had found more sources of alcoholic beverages, and now stood at the base of the house, drinking and jeering and looking up. The flash man, once on the rooftop and looking at the gap he had to cross, no longer seemed as flash as he did in the bar. The bravery from the Fire Whiskey was wearing off now.

For a moment, I believed that he wasn't going to do it. Sure, he would have the face the wrath of a drunken crowd, but I guess that's a whole lot better than death. But his faltering ended when he caught sight of the bird man, grinning. A fleeting piece of bravado must have flowed through him then, because he leapt.

He didn't make it.

Perhaps, maybe, he landed a single foot on the edge of the target building, but it slipped away and he found himself tumbling too far for someone to survive. He hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Nobody moved to help him. They just stood and stared, speechless statues. I cannot blame them; I made no move to offer assistance. There was a feeling that whatever we did, nothing would change. Fate had played its hand; humans couldn't change the cards.

I felt a presence next to me then and turned to find that the man of shadow was standing at my shoulder. He was smiling. It was a very unique smile.

"No-one ever could make that jump. Don't know how I did it."

I watched him walk out of my life, and found myself longing to kiss him, to hold him, to have him inside of me.

No man afterwards tasted as sweet as I imagined the man from St. Ives would taste.

:D

http://baby--jane.deviantart.com/art/rooftops-41428588