The air is sweet, but the cries are bitter.
A high scream pierces the crystal air.
Once.
Twice.
Then, a distant thud, a few lowered whispers and silence once more.
A dull rhythm of footsteps near, as a small body breathes quick and shallow.
Crisp and green, the grass sways slowly, echoing the whimpers of a child, alone and broken, now lost to the world.
Her head throbs and the voices of death are calling her.
She tries to resist, but they are much too soothing.
She lies there untouched and alone.
It lasts not long.
Thus, she is comforted by another, whose previous footsteps seemed only dream-like.
Her mind is chaos.
He is hesitant at first.
Hesitant to touch something so fragile.
Afraid of fracturing the feeble balance of life and death.
So she reaches out to clasp his trembling hand, though she should will against such a gesture.
For a second it is just study, as he gazes at her bloody fingers entwined against his own.
Then comes the grief.
The pain.
The guilt.
They threaten to succumb him.
Winds whisper silently, flowing through the trees that seem to mourn.
Seem to watch.
Her dark hair spills onto the ground as the crimson liquid traces her jaw line.
It puddles generously at the hollow of her neck.
She's so pale.
So cold.
So broken.
She doesn't notice the blood, tis not uncommon.
He reaches to feel it on his fingertips.
Stares at it, with a strangled moan escaping his tight throat.
Words pour from his mouth.
Some she hears, some she doesn't.
They are bittersweet.
Regretful.
Pained.
He believes in death.
Just not hers.
And then she slips away from him without a goodbye.
She is no longer.
Disbelief is the overflow of emotion.
The air is sweet, but the cries are bitter.