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An urban legend is defined as a modern story of obscure origin. There is usually little to no actual visible evidence, and urban legends tend to come about spontaneously - with elements of humor, morality, and, sometimes, horror.
Devil’s Dyke is no stranger to legends. It’s known for the fumbled flood attempt by the Devil, thwarted by the local roosters. But it has been a long time since there has been a new legend. A new thing whispered about in hushed tones amongst the population. And yet, now there is.
In the dark of the summer nights, they say, the stars tend to shift. If you look out at the sky to the south you’ll see them dance and shimmer. Some say the shifting is the great black wings of a creature, shimmering in the low light that glows from the windows, that reflects off the water by moonlight. The kids say if you try to find it, it will catch you and steal your soul.
Tommy Jensen says he talked to the creature. That it had bright shiny black scales, feathers that shimmered with starlight, and glowing yellow eyes. It spoke to him: spoke of love, of loyalty. Of thinking for yourself and asking the questions that matter. Of knowing who’s important and never, ever , letting them go. How some things were never meant to be contained, how some things are far too large to keep welled up inside.
Sometimes , it said, you have to stretch and take up space. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t worth the space you occupy.
That night Tommy Jensen came out to his parents, told them his best friend Jacob was actually his boyfriend. Tommy cried when his parents accepted this; his parents cried in joy for being trusted.
On the other side of the Dyke, a great winged creature lands in the shadows of an apple tree, just outside of a small cottage. It steps into the light coming from the cottage and its form shifts. Scales give way to pale skin, black claws shorten to normal nails, wings fade into the ether. When he reaches the porch, he’s taken the shape of a man with long red hair, skinny jeans, and an old t-shirt.
Another man waits on the porch, a soft man with platinum hair and a well-worn jumper, holding a cup of tea. The man kisses the creature when he approaches, asks him how his flight went. Loves him entirely, as the creature loves him also.
Some things were never meant to be contained, some things were meant to fly free. Some things are meant to be shouted from rooftops, to paint the sky with the truth of the words. Or to whisper them quietly to loved ones who matter, and hope for acceptance that is so hard to find in this world.
Love was never meant to be contained, and love was never meant to be silent.