Leave–with your heart as one. Michelle Liew
Did she?
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Mayville appeared in all its fading glory each June, on the night the mayflies hatched–shimmering, ethereal, almost fading.
For one night only.
Then, it would fade into the dust, never to be seen for the rest of the year.
That June, Cara returned to the town, guided by a trail of flickering Mayflies. Her deceased grandmother intoned its name gently in her ears–Mayville.
It was the clock tower, erect. imposing, in the town square. Or at least a photograph of it. Her. standing in front of it. staring.
At an empty space.
The tower shimmered within a cloud. its clock ticking, Loudly. A sound only of the mind. She had stumbled upon it, led by the knowing glow of the Mayflies that had formed a glowing map across the highway. They hovered around her as the town beamed into life.
The sky turned a queer silver at midnight. Pale yellow stars emerged. tiny, blinking. watching.
Mayville began to dissolve. the walls of each home melting like wax candles. The glowing Mayflies rose. their combined glow a frantic shimmer a they encircled her.
Cara found herself at the clock tower again, but it was–different. The pale stones bore a name–hers.
The townsfolk’s voices rose in an echoing whisper: “You’ve come home.”
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Cara didn’t stay in Mayville-she couldn’t. But she had left the town, and its people. Cara didn’t stay in Mayville-she couldn’t. But she had left the town, and its people. vacant.
Her grandmother still planted its name gently in her ears– Mayville.
The pale stars didn’t just shine–they yearned.
For her.
Mayville couldn’t be kept–it was the keeper.
And as she stared at the sign at the fork in the road. she knew.
And could only know–after she’d left.
That she hadn’t escaped Mayville–she had been entrusted.
The pale stars didn’t just shine–they yearned.
For her.
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