The Last Waltz at Leviathan

Rhiannon and Hal sat across from each other at the old beech leviathan of a table, in their small, candlelit kitchen. Fragrant rosemary and olive oil wafted around the house, as they enjoyed the romance of lamps and candles.

The grains of the wood, the scores of the knives - the sign of age and breakfasts together.

That was their ritual. Beyond their humble abode, intimacy-monitoring drones hovered—watchdogs of a world where affection had become a crime. As the world turned to refuse, they resisted giving up that sacred time together. Time was restricted, rationed out—but they carved out this precious sliver regardless.

In a world where presence and romantic entanglement were frowned upon—dismissed in favour of commerce and the monetization of every mortal second. Where quiet moments between friends, lovers, and confidantes were dismissed as worthless and lacking in efficiency.

They didn’t march or shout—they simply sat, fingers in the table’s old scars, claiming their quiet territory.

On paper, they were a mismatch. He, the sturdy epitome of bland perfection; she, inked body telling tales and baring emotions while baring flesh.

They were ice and fire, cheese and chalk.

Hal had always been a bit of a dreamer and though outwardly he was conservative, he was fiercely romantic and never agreed with the rise of tides on the anti-marital section of the wider community. Their first ever conversation was a debate that Hal failed to win and came away from smarter and more resolute that Rhiannon and those who believed in love had the right idea for life.

As Hal reached across their battle-worn table, his fingers danced between hers, their feet and toes mirrored the waltz beneath the wooden war room table.

This was their daily ritual. The one thing that kept them from the edge of the free-fall drop to void existence. A mortality of little to no consequence. Sometimes, they would sit enjoying each other's silence. Comfortable and warm. Other times, they would discuss and debate or laugh until their ribs ached.

The world may be heading to disaster, but they would ride it out, their way, and find joy in the agony.

But tonight, the air seemed heavier. Outside, the drones lingered too long at their windows. Even the candle flames seemed unsure. As they sat, the world around them, their solid piece of something, away from the anxiety and pressure of the external forces of capitalistic greed, was threatened.

"Was it Albert?" asked Hal, breaking their silent solace.

"Hm? Oh... yes. Albert. I hadn't thought of him in a long time, not until the mood changed."

"I know. I'm the same. Just today, I remembered the final thing he said to us when we bought this beauty." Hal continued, tapping the table.

“We were about to walk out of his small shop when he told us about a special piece he was saving to sell to people who deserved it—claiming the furniture chooses its owners. You were very cynical, but he didn’t seem to take offence,” noted Rhiannon.

“I thought it was an excellent hook at first, but it was his sincerity that won me over.”

“And the reduced price.”

“I like to think he was right - we were the best owners for this table. It has been through so much with us and never complained about the accidental spills, markings, or those few times when things got especially sensual between us.”

“Yes, well. I must be mad, falling for a man who talks like the table’s a family heirloom.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hal laughed.

Silence fell between them once more, as they gazed into one another’s eyes, while ruminating on what had passed and what loomed ahead.

Ever since the government officially denounced marriage, they had waited for this moment. Rhiannon sighed a little, calmly with a sense of pain behind her eyes, as they heard the raids get closer.

As they reached across Leviathan to share a lip-locked embrace their tender moment was interrupted.

“...We’re receiving reports from a government spokesperson that the raids have reached Little Haven. All married couples not helping to progress the development of our good country are being arrested and deported to special reprogramming camps.” The voice from the crackled radio broadcast echoed through the room, as Hal smiled gently at Rhiannon.

Echoes of the past flooded both Rhiannon and Hal’s minds as they remembered.

Setting Leviathan up in the room where it now sat, for the first time. The proposal, the private ceremony, and the countless times they enjoyed intimacy across the ageless wooden stage.

Then, pressures by the Anti-Marriage Party—leaflet drops, canvassing, muttered gossip.

“We knew this day would come. Maybe not as quickly as it has, but we knew it was in our future. Still glad we chose defiance?” Hal asked, knowing the answer deep down.

“For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in life and in death, you will always be my husband. If we are to be separated and conditioned to follow their bastardised capitalist way of life, I would rather be dead. You know all this,” Rhiannon replied, full of the fire and integrity Hal had fallen for.

“It’s always nice to hear.”

The sirens, the dogs, the shouting of armed troops, and the couples and families they seized and ripped apart could be heard in the background.

Hal took a remote control from a side unit across from the old Leviathan and pressed a few buttons, and music filled the room—her song. Their song.

Hal walked to Rhiannon and offered her his hand to dance. If they were bowing out, they’d do it in style.

“I know I can count on you.”

As they embraced and the music filled the room, they no longer heard the threat beyond the safety of their home. Locked together as physically as they always had been, figuratively, they held onto the hope that love would win out even if it happened after they had passed.

In that moment, they felt eternal. They closed their eyes and were in Albert’s store, and the moment they knew would define their marital act of resistance.

Albert was himself an old romantic, and both Rhiannon and Hal felt he was giving his blessing and encouragement for their relationship, what it stood for, and what it meant for the future.

Flashlights swayed erratically through the window, and the sound of jackboots on concrete would have filled anyone with fear. Not Rhiannon and Hal. Their lips met as the floodlights found their windows. Their bodies clung, defiantly fused, hoping to end their story the same way it began: music in the air, love in their blood, and the Leviathan glowing with memory.

The room hummed with something ancient and eternal, as if the table itself bore witness to their final vow: love, unbroken.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This is my first entry for the Leave the Light On Challenge as part of Vocal+ Summer Writing Series. You can find out more below.

Here are some other entries for Vocal+ Summer Writing Series Challenges: