Free Impulse by Vanessa Garden

city, giving off the vibe of post-sunset. But no amount of light crystal could disguise the blackness of the sky— the ocean —above us.
    â€˜You didn’t tell me there were actual fields out here,’ I said, in awe of the rolling hills that disappeared into the shadows.
    â€˜Yes. The light crystal isn’t as powerful as the sun, but it’s powerful enough. There is not much above ground that we cannot do here in Marin.’
    â€˜Except watch a wild storm and feel the rain on your skin or watch the stars,’ I said, more morosely than I’d intended. Marko frowned and sighed.
    â€˜You’re right; especially about the rain.’ He half smiled, but his eyes were distant with melancholy. I recalled the time he’d played the piece titled ‘Rain’ on the piano—a piece he’d written for me—and how I’d fallen asleep in his arms that night feeling the most ‘right’ I’d felt since Mum and Dad had died.
    Marko stepped off the boat first and waited for me, arms outstretched. The gondolier helped to steady me as I moved across the wobbly little boat, before I took a leap into Marko’s arms. He held me for a moment, tight against his chest, before setting me down on the ground, a soft smile on his lips.
    I cleared my throat and gazed around.
    The grass covering the ground wasn’t thick and lush like in the castle gardens, but it was amazingly real and patchy, even riddled with weeds, like any field back home. The houses ended here, and the land became undulated and almost eerily barren in the distance beneath the dark sky.
    Marko walked briskly up the hillside and I ran ahead of him, eager to see what was on the other side.
    By the time we reached the crest I was panting and bent over with a stitch. Marko didn’t seem as exerted by our little dash, but his breathing was slightly harder and his face had taken on a rosy glow.
    â€˜What do you think, Miranda?’
    I stepped forward and leant my hand against the coarse trunk of a leafy tree before looking out over the rise.
    The sight was gorgeous. Endless rows of vines lit up with light crystals, giving off a Christmassy vibe. The leaves were golden and sunburnt, like row upon row of little fire trails.
    â€˜It’s beautiful,’ I said.
    â€˜Extremely beautiful,’ Marko said, but he was looking right at me and not at the vines.
    Okay.
    I leant against the tree, my side pressing against its roughly textured trunk. Last year, it had taken a long time for me to believe it when Marko had told me I was beautiful. I still had a bit of trouble believing those words to this day. But surely his eyes couldn’t lie.
    â€˜I organised a packed lunch,’ he called over his shoulder as he began walking down the gentle slope of the hill, closer to the crystal-lit vines. He stopped halfway, where a basket sat waiting, and withdrew from it a red, blue andwhite chequered blanket. I joined him and took one side of the blanket and helped him to set it on the grass.
    â€˜This is great,’ I said.
    A small smile flickered on Marko’s lips as he poured me water from a canteen into a plain silver goblet. ‘I’m happy you like it.’
    We ate a crisp salad of tomatoes and lettuce with olives and goat’s cheese, alongside warm bread and, after the water, drank the early sweet wine from this summer’s grapes. The wine made me feel warm and sleepy.
    Afterwards, we lay on the blanket and I listened to Marko speak about the recent harvest. The sound of his smooth, deep voice combined with the tickling, manufactured breeze lulled me to sleep. I wasn’t sure how long Marko had let me rest for, but when he gently shook me awake I felt so groggy it seemed like at least a couple of hours. The drugs were taking their sweet time getting out of my system, or maybe it was the early wine. I reminded myself to steer clear of the stuff next time. I needed a clear head at all times