Indian Summer

Life without love is like a tree without blossom and fruit.
– Kahlil Gibran

We met at the cliff. Where nobody could see us. An ocean of liquid gold covered the brown and yellow trees. Old and sophisticated they laughed about us. But we did not care. We just stood there and watched the cosy blue blanket giving us a pleasant feeling of relief.
Briefly, I looked at him with a sidelong glance. Smiling and with closed eyes, he drew the sun’s attention. It gave him all of its grace and let him look like an angel. For sure he would be better off in heaven.
I took a deep breath to get the wind’s entire refreshing breeze. And so did the trees, the grass, the bushes, the animals. It seemed as if the whole nature was one great orchestra of instruments belonging together, playing in the same rhythm, depending on each other, but being a complete own individual. Fundamentally, we all did the same things but in our own way. And that was what makes us beautiful. That should have been what makes us beautiful. But there were not many who were beautiful. The world was so ungrateful. Well, not the world – but the rich people. Most of them had the chance to create themselves like they wanted to be. There was nobody who did not let them be the way they are. People often did not take their chance and did not stay original.
So many people wished to have this opportunity! So many people could not be who they wanted to be. So many people were squeezed into a very tiny corset. They were at least beautiful on the very bottom of their heart as they had a dream. But sometimes when you cannot live your dream, you do not have a choice.
He was tight-lipped. I felt like I better should not ask him any questions. That was none of my business. I did not want anybody to ask me anything about my life. They would not understand.
We had this whole Facebook thing going on that brought us here. He saw my picture, and I saw his, and somehow we both knew it at once.
Now we were standing here in the loneliest place we knew looking down to the deep, delightful valley. The leaves were ablaze with light in rich colours. The big lake right in the middle of the valley looked like a mirror and reflected the holy glance in sparkling fairies. I believed I had never seen such a beautiful sunset before. I had hardly ever seen a sunset. Now I knew what they meant by Indian Summer.
His gleaming golden hair went perfectly together with the world he was going to go into. His big brown eyes were soaked by the variety of the leaves’ colours. His rueful red mouth spread out into a wide smile. Then it froze. A gentle touch on my arm. A deep look in my eyes. A low voice on my ear.
“My father is an alcoholic. He murdered my little sister when I was eight,” he said. Still smiling.
“My father has been abusing me since I can think,” I said. Without any emotion.
“So we both are to get the key, right?” I felt as though his eyes were forcing me to look into his.
“Would be just fair.” Grinning.
“But this world isn’t fair.” Doubting.
“Yes, but it should be just once. There is a time where you should get what you want.” Assuring.
“You’re right.”
Golden waves broke in front of us. They nearly reached our ankles.
“You know what’s not fair? That we didn’t see this before. That we couldn’t escape into this before.”
“But now we do.”
“Now we do.”
We viewed the valley again. Stepped to the edge of the cliff. He took my hand.
“This is the key.”
Then we jumped.