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Title: Winter
Series: The Cycle of Seasons
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 696
Summary: You found me in the winter.
Notes: The fourth part of the series. This was also the first one written, before I realized it was going to be a series, so it's slightly different than the others.
As we leave the house, I lag, a little bit, staying back to lock up and make sure the shutters are secure. I've checked once, already, but paranoia and awareness of you make me look again. We've gotten to know each other, slightly, over breakfast. Something in your eyes makes me want to keep you. Something in my heart tells me it won't be easy. When I'm satisfied all is as it should be, I turn to find you're looking back at me.
“Huh,” you say. “I think I'm forgetting something.”
In spite of everything, in spite of the certainty that leaving is a bad idea and the heaviness in my chest that says we've been too lucky for too long – though how long is too long and lucky in which sense is impossible to say – I can't help but smile. I go to you and rearrange your haphazardly tied scarf, meeting your eyes with greater ease then I would have thought possible.
“You're always forgetting something,” I tell you, though 'always' is a meaningless word. “It's not exactly a surprise.”
Your brow furrows into a look of such deep concentration I feel my smile threatening to widen. To distract you, I slide an arm around your shoulders and begin to lead you through the woods, away from our comforting little house, snow crunching under our boots as we make our way towards the Great Unknown. You allow yourself to be led, still thinking hard, and place yourself so completely in my hands I can't help but choose our path with a little more care then I would usually afford. We've almost made it out of the valley when you look up with a smile like the sunrise over a snow-covered peak.
“It probably isn't that important, anyway,” you say, happily.
I nod in agreement and slide my arm a little lower on your back, hugging gently. You make a happy sound but don't speak, again. And, though the coldness in my stomach remains, as definite as the cold against my cheeks, I am suddenly, inexplicably, at peace.
It might be days or decades or, more likely, mere hours, later, but time has no meaning, now. We are lost – always are we lost. But now it's more then us – it's everything. All is lost. I'm already on the ground when you're forced to your knees beside me, our pants swiftly soaked by the snow. A detached bit of me is pleased to see you don't appear wounded, but you probably didn't put up so much of a fight as I did. Too bewildered to bother, I think. You look at me mournfully, your eyes burning holes in my soul, and I try to smile but from the way you only look sadder, it must have gotten twisted along the way. It shouldn't matter, things being as they are, but I wish I could at least give you that.
“I've just remembered,” you say, softly, with only the slightest waver in your voice.
I wonder, for an instant, whether you realize what's about to happen to us, then chastise myself – you're not stupid. Dreamy, forgetful, a little bit oblivious, perhaps, but not so much that you can't see what's right in front of you. You know that we're about to die.
“Remembered what?” I ask, wearily, and you smile like your heart is breaking for the tenth time – crushed and resigned, deeply depressed and used to it.
“What I had forgotten earlier,” you say.
I remember then, the morning's conversation, and nod.
“Today's my birthday.”
I don't know whether you could have said anything that would have upset me more. I close my eyes against a flood of tears and bite down hard on a sob. Smile like it's the first time I've been hurt. And, when I trust my voice not to shatter, I say, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
There's perfect silence, then, and I don't want to look at you because I know you're crying. Only in tears can you be that quiet. So I turn my face to the sun, wondering absurdly what you would have liked me to get you, if we'd made it that far, and listen for the clicks of guns being loaded and aimed. When they come, and I try to smile, again, and think, Well, at least you get a nice rest, and try not to giggle as I greet oblivion with arms open wide.
Series: The Cycle of Seasons
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 696
Summary: You found me in the winter.
Notes: The fourth part of the series. This was also the first one written, before I realized it was going to be a series, so it's slightly different than the others.
As we leave the house, I lag, a little bit, staying back to lock up and make sure the shutters are secure. I've checked once, already, but paranoia and awareness of you make me look again. We've gotten to know each other, slightly, over breakfast. Something in your eyes makes me want to keep you. Something in my heart tells me it won't be easy. When I'm satisfied all is as it should be, I turn to find you're looking back at me.
“Huh,” you say. “I think I'm forgetting something.”
In spite of everything, in spite of the certainty that leaving is a bad idea and the heaviness in my chest that says we've been too lucky for too long – though how long is too long and lucky in which sense is impossible to say – I can't help but smile. I go to you and rearrange your haphazardly tied scarf, meeting your eyes with greater ease then I would have thought possible.
“You're always forgetting something,” I tell you, though 'always' is a meaningless word. “It's not exactly a surprise.”
Your brow furrows into a look of such deep concentration I feel my smile threatening to widen. To distract you, I slide an arm around your shoulders and begin to lead you through the woods, away from our comforting little house, snow crunching under our boots as we make our way towards the Great Unknown. You allow yourself to be led, still thinking hard, and place yourself so completely in my hands I can't help but choose our path with a little more care then I would usually afford. We've almost made it out of the valley when you look up with a smile like the sunrise over a snow-covered peak.
“It probably isn't that important, anyway,” you say, happily.
I nod in agreement and slide my arm a little lower on your back, hugging gently. You make a happy sound but don't speak, again. And, though the coldness in my stomach remains, as definite as the cold against my cheeks, I am suddenly, inexplicably, at peace.
It might be days or decades or, more likely, mere hours, later, but time has no meaning, now. We are lost – always are we lost. But now it's more then us – it's everything. All is lost. I'm already on the ground when you're forced to your knees beside me, our pants swiftly soaked by the snow. A detached bit of me is pleased to see you don't appear wounded, but you probably didn't put up so much of a fight as I did. Too bewildered to bother, I think. You look at me mournfully, your eyes burning holes in my soul, and I try to smile but from the way you only look sadder, it must have gotten twisted along the way. It shouldn't matter, things being as they are, but I wish I could at least give you that.
“I've just remembered,” you say, softly, with only the slightest waver in your voice.
I wonder, for an instant, whether you realize what's about to happen to us, then chastise myself – you're not stupid. Dreamy, forgetful, a little bit oblivious, perhaps, but not so much that you can't see what's right in front of you. You know that we're about to die.
“Remembered what?” I ask, wearily, and you smile like your heart is breaking for the tenth time – crushed and resigned, deeply depressed and used to it.
“What I had forgotten earlier,” you say.
I remember then, the morning's conversation, and nod.
“Today's my birthday.”
I don't know whether you could have said anything that would have upset me more. I close my eyes against a flood of tears and bite down hard on a sob. Smile like it's the first time I've been hurt. And, when I trust my voice not to shatter, I say, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
There's perfect silence, then, and I don't want to look at you because I know you're crying. Only in tears can you be that quiet. So I turn my face to the sun, wondering absurdly what you would have liked me to get you, if we'd made it that far, and listen for the clicks of guns being loaded and aimed. When they come, and I try to smile, again, and think, Well, at least you get a nice rest, and try not to giggle as I greet oblivion with arms open wide.
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