A peek into something bigger—most likely, they will come together as a full-length book later. Enjoy!
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| Photo courtesy of Neal. via Flickr |
It was the wishing
that kept her alive.
She lay in a field of wildflowers. Plucking a petal from
one, she flicked it away. “He loves me.” She plucked another, crushing its soft
smoothness between her thumb and forefinger. “He loves me not.” She rolled over
onto her side. Her hair, once secured around the crown of her head, was now tangled with leaves and trailed in a loose braid.
He appeared seemingly from nowhere; walking through the field and crushing wildflowers
under his boots. Dressed in black from head-to-toe, his crisp, white button-up shirt stood in stark contrast. He looked as if he were off to a wedding. Or a funeral.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” Removing his
top hat, he dusted it across his knee. Long, dark hair blew in the breeze.
“I’m lying here.” She didn't bother keeping the resentment from her voice. He was not the first to
disturb her peace, though this one hadn't come the same way the others had.
“I can see that.” His eyes flashed annoyance. “You're in my field.”
“It isn't your field. ‘Tis mine. I've been here longer than
you've crossed it.”
“Indeed?”
She studied his clothing and demeanor; a curious mixture of
old and new.
“Well, then. I apologize.” A bemused smile traced his lips. “Perhaps
we may share?”
She sat up, the lace trim at the neck of her dress suddenly
binding. “Perhaps.”
He settled beside her, long-legged and taking up what seemed
like the last available space. “I didn't expect to see anyone else.”
“Nor did I.” She couldn't stop her gaze from travelling up
to his face. It was an interesting face. Dark eyes, made to appear darker by the
eyeliner he was wearing. A proud nose. Well-shaped lips. A silver ring hung
from one of his earlobes. Only one. It matched the silver buttons along his
black velvet coat. She gathered her long skirts closer.
“I started to turn back…” His gaze slid towards the line
of trees. “But then I saw you from the woods.”
She caught the confusion on his brow. “There is but one path from here.”
It was the wishing that kept her alive.
It was the wishing that kept her alive.
He turned his attention to her face. “Seems a lonely path.”
“I suppose it is…for
some.”
“Will you walk it with me?”
She worried her long braid and dropped her gaze. “I am not ready to leave.”
"Neither was I," he replied. “I suppose we shall sit here and take in the
scenery until we're both ready.”
“I suppose we shall.” The crushed petal she held between her thumb and forefinger slipped away like an afterthought.
The wildflower-scattered graveyard once held headstones. They
had crumbled to dust long ago, the dead now forgotten.
It was the wishing that kept them alive.
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