Dead Spark
Her spark was holding on… but his was dead. Ilse/Moritz friendship drabble about that little word he couldn't say to her.
Disclaimer: The mama who bore me taught me to not take credit for what I didn't make.
It only took one little word. One, single, overused word could've let him see the sun rise again. He was used to saying it: "Yes, my homework is done." He was used to lying with it: "Yes, I passed." He knew how to say it in Latin, he knew it meant "affirmative". His tongue just couldn't roll off the word.
Ilse's blue eyes were what stood out the most to him. Despite her tattered dress and her messy brown hair, her eyes were what he remembered the most from that night. They seemed almost mystical, like they could look into your soul to see what you needed. If Moritz was ever going to say yes to anyone, it would've been Melchior… or Ilse.
Back when things were less complicated and bodies and minds retained stability, Moritz and Ilse used to walk home together from school. She always made the walk home brighter, no matter how far the mile appeared to be that day. He knew that she sometimes wasn't in school because she either ran away for the night or waited for a fresh wound on her arm to become a fleshier color again, courtesy of her father; then it was only too easy to slip under teachers' radar by dismissing it as a trip or bump.
Ilse's father was something that Ilse rarely brought up; it was somehow always understood that he did this to her. When Moritz would ask her about a fresh bruise on her arm, she quickly tugged on her braid and said, "You know who." He wanted to help somehow, even fight him just to make him see what he does to her; it was like a match striking against flint. Of course, he wanted to wait until he was just a little bit taller and stronger.
Maybe she knew that he needed someone to start the spark again; maybe her eyes bore into his soul, trying to get him to give life one more chance. Ilse was going right back into the hands of the man who beat her, abused her, took away her innocence, and she knew that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right if Moritz walked her home. Just like the old days, when the spark was bright in the pitch-black night and walks home took her mind off of what happened in the past, and what may happen. It would have been just a walk home, but it would have reunited and brought back so much.
Yet, he said he had homework. Homework that he'd never complete, homework he'd never really think twice again about, he was ashamed to have to use studies as a cover-up. The truth was that his mind was set. The spark could not be lit again.
All he had to do was say "yes", but it was too late. Her spark was holding on… but his was dead.
A/n: I think I may have disturbed myself. Reading/Editing/Posting this was not possible without the aid of chocolate brownies. Overall, I'm actually kinda pleased with this, my first truly "in-your-face-chilling" drabble. Thanks!