The Boy.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Short Story from Year 11.

Submitted: July 23, 2013

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Submitted: July 23, 2013



"You're breaking her heart, you know," The Boy heard someone state nonchalantly as they began to unpack their lunch onto the slightly worn conrete they sat on.

He didn't even notice them sitting down beside him until he spoke.

He had been too engrossed in the light bouncing within the deceptively brown eyes she captivated him with.  In the setting, beneath the shower tree gracing them with pink and yellow petals, with the sun streaming through the branches, her eyes nearly looked golden.

"What?" His head shook as he turned to the person, among the group, beside him.

They still had yet to turn and face The Boy.  "You.  You're slowly killing her."

His eyebrows knitted in confusion.  He wouldn't dare hurt her.  Even if something happened, she could handle it, right?

They sighed and The Boy looked away in a blank stare.  "She's not as strong as you think.  She's fragile."

His stare found her, as it always did, and, still captivated, he watched as she hid behind a curtain of hair and pushed her sleeves further down her wrists.  Her gaze focused out in the midst of the group's laughter and shouts; to him, the noises faded out as mere echoes around him, second to the breeze and shaking of the branches above.  She could move, just slightly, and he felt his eyes shift with her movements.  

"She's the strongest of all of us." The light scattered on the cememnt, splayed atop the energy of the group.

"Only for you."

The breeze swept by their feet with a haunting echo, still overcoming his grasp on the others' conversation.

"No.  You've seen her smile."  He ran a hand through his hair as she swept hers away from her eyes, a glance slippig towards him.  Normally unnoticed, she felt the heat rush to her cheeks as he met her gaze and held it.  

"Only you see that smile."

She quickly turned to return her gaze to the cement, staring into absolute nothingness.  

"You own her," they continued.  "So you can either fix her," he watched as she tapped out a rhythym with her fingers, "or break her."


"Continue to break her," they corrected themself.

His mouth shut itself as he tore his stare from her.  

"Stop, just stop."

"So you know that you're doing it," they continued.

"Stop," he whispered again, just barely a breath on his lips.

The wind struck again as The Boy grabbed the strap to his backpack.

"You own her heart."

He stood.

"You own her thoughts."

His feet carried him away from the warm light and laughter and her captivating, golden eyes.


"You own her."

© Copyright 2019 Kathryn Thorne. All rights reserved.

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