Forgotten

by : epiphanies

Dedication: Liebling! I'm sorry I've been so swept up in my PotC fic. I'm still working on it, but needed a break and had a little inspiration. Hope you like it, even as it's short. I'm off to read your new stuff now.



















She'd forgotten the feeling to cry.

She'd forgotten what it was like. What it felt like.

Gods, she'd forgotten what it was like to -feel-.

And nobody would help her remember.

She was a lost soul, a wanderer, a drifter in the middle of a desert bare of anything real or anything complete.

She'd never been quite the same as everybody else. There was only one person she'd been able to relate to.

She'd say, "He's ugly," and he'd say, "No uglier than me," and she'd shrug.

He'd throw a snowball at her face. She'd cry, for back then, she'd known how. He'd stamp his foot at her for being a baby. She wouldn't stop crying. He'd go home.

She'd put an ink stain on his new cloak and he'd hex her, and she'd hex him back.

He'd step on her feet when they danced and she would kiss his nose and he would wrinkle it.

And they would laugh. Oh, how they would laugh.

They laughed for years. They laughed until, one day, the laughter ended with an abrupt wave of a foreign wand.

And the laughter stopped, and the tears were forgotten for a giant, irreplaceable void that resigned itself to live in her chest.

Right before the laughter stopped, he'd said, "I'll never forgive you for calling me ugly, and staining my cloak and hexing me."

And she had kissed his nose.

And he had gone -poof-. Like a candle being blown out in the fugitive wind of summer.

And she felt that she would never breathe again.

She never knew that she would never cry again.

She could remember his grey eyes as they shut a final time.

She could remember the ink stain on his cloak.

She then remembered seeing the blood, and thinking, "If he knew that it was staining his cloak, he wouldn't be as mad at me as at that scoundrel."





She wiped her cheek and gaped at it.

She was crying.

She hadn't forgotten how to cry.

She hadn't forgotten him. She wouldn't forget him.

She threw down a black daisy where his elaborate gravestone lay, and turned to walk away.

The wind kissed her nose.