Together

      “I wonder if we are also together in other universes?”       He looks with big, brown eyes at the person sitting opposite. His head with dishevelled brown hair rests on his hands, and it may seem that Ronald is sleeping. His legs were numb from anticipation, but he waited obediently. It was not difficult for Ronald — even such meetings, when they were simply silent, gave him pleasure. Ronald was happy, happy in his own way, watching him reading with relaxed face.

      The cage sparkles, shimmering in the sun, reflects the rays. Inside, there is a brown sparrow; its head is down. Ignoring the golden interlacing of branches, the bird is silent. Huddled in the centre of the golden palace, the sparrow appears even smaller than it really is. Bird isn’t interested in beautiful stones and twigs, sparkling with wealth. Jays, nightingales, tits are jumping around the garden… They chirp, flying from branch to branch. Beautiful in their bright plumage, they are free. And he, homely, incapable of beautiful singing, sits inside, locked, and absolutely miserable.

      Herbert smiles without looking up from his book. The setting sun climbed into his wheaten hair and scattered like a halo around his aristocratically pale face. Subtle fingers carefully turned the page and Herbert looked up at Ronald, squinting his light eyes and smiling slyly.

      Among the faded autumn flowers, lurking, spreading bright yellow leaves, there is a flycatcher. It emits an aroma that is captivating for foolish insects. Colourful butterflies, and dragonflies flutter, periodically descending to the buds. They carefully fly around the open mouth of the flycatcher, preferring flowers that are not so bright, but soft and welcoming. A brown butterfly carefully landed on the sticky surface of a yellow leaf. The mouth began to collapse, but the intoxicated insect did not realize its mistake until it disappeared into the bowels of the predator. The flycatcher swayed contentedly in the wind, smiling with its toothy leaves.

      “I’m sure of it,” Herbert got up and leaned across the table towards Ronald. The highlights on his thin cheekbones and high forehead flicker in ecstasy: Herbert is poetically charming, indecently charming. He gently brushes the hair away from Ronald’s forehead, but the short strands immediately fall back. Herbert chuckled, took Ronald’s chin with two fingers and chastely kissed the soft lips opposite — only light touch for a moment, then leaning away with casting a regretful glance at the bruise around Ronald’s wrist, “of course, we’re together. 'cause I love you after all.”       He is waiting for an answer. A soft smile and a look that does not tolerate objections. Ronald shrinks and forces a smile in response. Herbert presses his fingers under his chin and Ronald winces.

      Brown wax drips onto the saucer and almost instantly hardens into a dirty puddle. The candle cries, melts, but does not go out. At the top of the cinder a yellow light sways in the wind. The flame shines brightly, illuminating the dim room. The candle becomes smaller and smaller; the fire only flares up, devouring the wick. The cinder, painted with drops, does not resist. His fate is to burn, enjoying the deadly heat.

      “It hurts,” Ronald exhales. Herbert, as if waking up, unclenched his fingers and smiled guiltily.       “Sorry.”       Ronald nods, but there’s a lump in his throat. At such moments it seems to him that one day Herald will kill him.