Haunting. Always

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Roy looks back on the memory that will haunt him forever. A memory of the girl he once loved...

Submitted: January 19, 2012

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Submitted: January 19, 2012

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The streetlights flicker, illuminating the fireflies which dodge in and out of the blaze, moving with such ease from light to dark, heaven to hell. There is just enough light to reach the figure sweeping through the grass below. She’s holding her shoes in her hands so as to let the soft greenery caress her feet. Her hair feathers out in waves of caramel as she swings around, calling excitedly to someone through the unforgiving darkness.

‘Come on slow coach!’ The echoes of her voice seep through me like a shot of burning whisky.

A second form moves into the hazy glare; a young male with charcoal hair against chalky skin. He regards the girl warmly, smiling with his emerald eyes. He lets her take his hand guide him through the dark patches.

‘Oh I loved it tonight, Roy. All that dancing. The delicious food. We can go again, can’t we?’

Roy replies softly, ‘Course we can,’

The girl begins to hum a soothing tune and twirl around in wild happiness, the hem of her long white dress kissing the grass. Her arms flare around her, a swan spreading its vast wings in preparation for flight.

I continue to watch the scene, my breath catching in my throat as tears threaten to escape. I wanted to look away, I wanted to forget but the magnetism between the young beings and I was forcefully strong. So I slide down the stone wall of my house and crouch on the ground, rubbing the skin of my aged hands to keep the heat in.

‘Watch out,’ Roy lunges forward to catch the girl when she trips over her dress.

He holds her there for a moment. Then the merciless clouds collide, bringing with them a bout of shimmering rain. She turns her palms towards the sky and feels the velvety droplets hit her skin.

‘Now this is real rain. We’ve got to dance, come on Roy,’ she exclaims, breathlessly.

‘No, we should get home now,’ he warns but he’s smiling in amusement, watching her evergreen energy.

She swings around a lamp post, as they do in musicals like Mary Poppins, holding her sequinned purse in the other hand. In a sudden movement the tiny bag wriggles from her grip and flies onto the road, skidding to a halt. Without a second thought the girl rushes after it, smooth feet against rough tarmac. She doesn’t see the car which speeds around the corner.

As the vehicle collides with her delicate form the scene vanishes before my eyes. A moment later a voice rings out from the depths of my house.

  ‘Roy, what are you doing out there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I murmur in response, ‘I’m coming in now.’

Tears seep from my emerald eyes as the memory feeds on me. Some might say I should have forgotten and moved on by now, but I didn’t want to forget. My cut was mostly healed but every so often someone would peel back the bandage only to pour salt into the wound and it would sting again for a while. Some things can heal on the outside but if you care to delve deeper, under the skin, you will find that scars can never fade completely. 


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