The trunk popped open. I lifted it up for her to crawl inside while I put the backseats down.

The smell of her body was intoxicating. Alluring. It drew me closer. I shifted my weight to my left, turning to face her. Just one breath later and I had lost control, put to sleep by some chemicals working wonders in my brain, manipulating my thoughts in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe.

“The temperature is perfect,” I murmured. “And the wind is really relaxing.”

The last vestiges of my conscious mind must’ve been trying to make sense of what euphoria came over me, without wanting to admit the real reason — her — aloud. I refocused on her figure, the most magical thing in sight. Everything else was just about believable. An orange and red gradient tint hung loosely in the lower parts of the sky. The dark blue water of the Falmouth River carried small, light waves calmy rippling from shore to shore, country to country. An international suspension bridge that had remained operational for over nine decades bore several tons of weight. All of that was real. I knew that.

But her? Though I could see and feel her the same as everything else, she was… different­­ — special.

We laid parallel, our legs hanging out of the trunk, where the fading light of the sun fell. I shifted backwards slightly, just enough to put my shoulder in line with her head. Gently, I slid an outstretched arm under her long, messy hair, which had been perfectly straight just a few minutes ago. Strands of sleek, majestic black hair, with hints of blond dye at the ends ran down past her shoulders. Now, with her head resting on the rear of the backseat, those strands began spreading out and intertwining. I wanted to close my eyes and bury my head in her hair, to overwhelm my senses with a million different tingles, to smell the lingering scent of her shampoo.

But I didn’t want to sacrifice my view. Her eyes, filled with such color and life. Her mouth, those full, rose lips longing to be kissed. The rise and fall of her chest, a steady beat that kept my heart on edge. I took my hand and placed it on her stomach. Reaching for it slowly, her nails grazing over my arm, was a gentle tease that make my heart shut down for a split-second. The soft glow of the setting sun made our skin glow a vibrant, golden tone. I made my way down to her hips. Then, her leg. Finally, her ankle. I squeezed for a second before letting go and bringing my hand back up. I clasped the underside of her face, fitting it in the palm of my hand. I pulled her closer; the gravity between us grew so great. Impossible to relinquish.

A second later, we met each other at the mouth and pushed our longing lips together. The point of no return. My free hand ran through her hair, and I lightly massaged the back of her neck. Her tongue, a welcome intruder, pushed its way through my defenses. We pulled ourselves back, temporarily. I heard her take a deep breath. Her breathing was rough, unsteady. It made me kiss her harder. My hand sailed over her shoulder, and I ran my fingers down her spine and made a return to the deep curvature at her hips. I pulled away from her. Her neck. Glaring at it, I turned my head sideways and kissed the soft skin, licking it in the process. Her head convulsed backwards, giving me the absolute freedom to move around and reach anywhere I wanted. Higher. Lower. Back to the center. To the left. Down to her clavicles. My lips brushed past her neck bones. My wet tongue made her tremble in surprise. When I got back up to her chin, she cast her gaze down, and our lips made contact again. We were playing a game of cat and mouse, constantly chasing each other. Did we get too caught up in the game? Maybe.

I heard voices approaching. We parted violently, breaking our lips apart again. My breathing was ragged too, like a wild animal, exhausted after a hunt. Her hand retracted. Those long, silky fingers taken off my chest, one by one. My heart was still beating rapidly — it wouldn’t have too long of a break. Air rushed to fill the newly opened space between us. A breeze swept my messy hair sideways. The accompanying footsteps of the voices emerged, growing faster and louder with every passing second. Several moments later, two people walked past the trunk, thankfully not batting an eye at us. I moved forward, closer to the still setting sun, and pulled down the trunk.

My heart, still fast as ever, skipped a beat. I was being drawn in, bewitched by her eyes. Deep as an ocean, vivid like a flower, with glances piercing me like freshly sharpened daggers.

She grabbed my collar.

I blinked.

She tightened her grip.

My eyes widened.

She tugged me closer.

I fell forwards.

Her warm, sweet breath creeped down my neck.

I let her use me. All of me. I shut my eyes. Her upper lip rubbed against mine, before fully locking together in a slow kiss, full of desire. The exhalation that followed emptied my lungs. She stole my breath — took it away like a thief. Then, to add insult to injury, her hand lifted my shirt, granting her nails the chance to brush against my bare chest. Those nails. They were always painted to perfection: a reflection of her. So pretty, creative, mesmerizing. They were made to be on me. Seducing me. I took in a bloodthirsty breath. My abdomen reflexively tightened from the paralyzing arousal that rippled through my nerves and spine. The wind on my stomach was cooler than before. The residual heat from the sun was all that remained. Only a tiny sliver of the star was visible.

When her lips finally left mine, my neck muscles tightened, pushing my head up and leaving me at my most vulnerable. My skin, bone, arteries, were on full display, and they hadn’t the slightest intention of being hidden. I was ready for her to kiss me there. My brain was making guesses. Wild predictions. I wouldn’t let her steal any more from me.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice-

I felt soft, moist lips suck on my tightened abs. A gasp escaped my mouth, taking all my air out with it.

-shame on me.

Only the blue brush remained.

“Well?”

“Quite.”

“Well, it looks like we’re done!”

“Quite the observation, Richard.”

Vainilton sat. A light breeze feathered across the heavy atmosphere, flying until it was dispersed from an impact with the back of his chair. Richard sat down only a couple metres across from him. They hovered, suspended by the spherical ether that encased them.

Vainilton could not describe the darkness surrounding them, or the light that burned inside their sphere. Richard could. Richard crossed his legs on the void of nothing. Richard contemplated what he would do next.

“Father, I’m over here.”

Vainilton turned a few degrees to the left. The wind came back. It was a bit harsher now, but still just gently gliding, withholding any hints of its presence.

“Father, I’d like to visit the colours. We’re done, after all.”

A transient spell of darkness was cast in Vainilton’s mouth and Richard’s ears.

“Father?

Another gust of wind, this time much more forceful in nature, pushed its way past Vainilton’s chair and into Richard’s open mouth. The spell was broken.

“Quite, no.”

“Well, why not? Father, what else is there to do in this place?

“Quite a question that is. What isn’t there to do in this place?”

“Well, everything that happens down there and not up here, of course.”

Richard stared into the darkness. Those two eyes that held nothing but nothing. A sigh of resignation pushed him to the ground. He sank onto his back, extending his legs outwards and his arms out to fulfil his wingspan. Strangely, though Richard so desperately wanted to leave for the colours, he never left. Richard could not describe the reasoning behind his decision to stay. Vainilton could. Vainilton bent down, searching the ground for the blue brush. Vainilton found it, and picked it up, holding it like he would Richard, in his days as an infant. He took a deep breath. He knew that one day, it would come to an end, and his little boy would become rightfully selfish. Both opened their mouths.

“Well — ”

“Quite — ”

The spell of silence returned. Accompanying it was a final, triumphant gust of wind. It violently shook the light in the sphere, whipping Vainilton’s blue brush out of his hand. Richard jolted upwards. A gaping hole of nothing was seen on the wall of the spherical atmosphere which contained them.

Well, must’ve been the wind, Richard thought. When Vainilton’s outstretched arm retracted, it revealed behind it a small, 4-limbed levitating figure. It shone brighter than the light, and glided towards Richard.

Vainilton scrambled to locate his brush while the figure flew past him.

Richard squinted at it. Unconsciously, without pausing to think, he leaned closer.

“Well, who are you?”

“Me, silly!”

“Well, I meant your name.”

“Name? I’m me!”

Exasperated, Richard gave up on his line of questioning and let the figure speak for itself. The light of the figure dimmed slightly, into a warmer, softer tone.

“So, what is it you want?”

“Well, what do you mean by that? I want a lot of things.”

“Tell me what you want most.”

“Well… I want to g — ”

“RICHARD! WHO’S THERE?! WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”

Vainilton held his brush up like it was a sword. He swung it blindly, in the opposite direction of the figure, mistaking the echo of the figure’s voice for its actual position.

Both Richard and the figure looked over at him.

“Who’s he to you?”

“Well, he’s my Father.”

“Is that so?”

Vainilton was panting, and a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek, splattering without sound onto the nothing-ground. He stopped his last swing midair, momentarily pausing to listen to his surroundings. The figure turned back to face the man’s son.

“Time for that wish, Richard. My time here ends soon.”

Son looked at Father. There sat a tall and frail old man. His face featured wrinkles and dark spots accumulated through his years of torment and grief. There was no light in his eyes, and semi-circular bags hung below them. His clothes were draped loosely on his body. The only colour visible on the old man was on his fingertips, most notably near the parts where he made contact with the blue brush he had been so desperate to retrieve a moment ago. The Son recalled a time when Vainilton was the sole owner of that brush, and many others like it. A time when nothing was something.

Before the darkness, Vainilton was his own Mind, Hand, and Judge. Now, he was not entirely whole. He could no longer assess his Hand’s work, or his Mind’s innovation. Richard had become Vainilton’s Judge. He filled the emptiness in him. There seemed to be no end. The Judge was never truly done. Richard longed to leave.

“Quick, Richard. Your wish?”

“Well, I wish for my Father to have his eyesight return.”

“Congrats. Goodbye, Richard.”

A moment later, Vainilton shakily stood up, tears flowing down from his strained eyes. They were beautiful shades of blue and green, unlike any other pair in the galaxy. Father looked at Son and examined his creation, expecting a similar reaction. But all he saw was darkness. Eyes that held nothing but nothing. Son crumpled. Father screamed.