I wrote something like this at one point but it seemed like no one wanted to bother reading it. Because this is me we're talking about I got rid of it, and later that computer crashed, so it was lost. I figured that eventually I needed to put this back up, if not for my own sake then for someone who wants to rant at me for how wrong I am in my opinions.
Basically I don't own anything
When he saw her, really saw her he saw the world and the universe reflected in those eyes. He saw hope, light, and a chance for a brighter future. When she would laugh, he found his lips turning up in a smile.
But he was supposed to be strong, wasn't he? The fearless leader, the person who stood up at the front screaming into a megaphone in hopes that it would change something. He was the one that was supposed to focus more on his work than on women and yet he got so many.
It wasn't his fault, really. Men who were more focused on something other than women tended to get them coming in flocks to support him, hoping to change him into something domestic so they could brag to their friends. Like some sort of pet.
Every time he would look at her, though, he forgot his work, he forgot the cause and he felt like everything was clear again. She was the light that he kept reaching for but found just a few inches away from his grasping hands each time. Unattainable.
In his final moments, in that explosion and all that had come with it, he could see her face clearly in his mind when she saw what he was doing. The disappointment, the underlying horror as she expressed her distaste at the angle they were taking.
So what had he said? "Close the door" and nothing else would come out. He wanted to chase after her, tell her that it was okay and they weren't really going to use it.
But he never did.
And he was just another name in the newspaper under the identified dead.