Disclaimer: All I own is the annoying stomach bug that allowed me actual free time (I was starting to think such a luxury was extinct) so I could write this.
1.)
Nita bit into the large, fluffy cinnamon bun and let her eyes close in a the split-second ecstasy that was the warm steam floating up to the roof of her mouth and the soft, succulent morsel spreading blissfully over her tongue. But, with the first bite (she had had every intention of savoring it before chewing, but she got so lost in the sensation that she hadn't been thinking straight and took the bite instinctually) the steam was snuffed out, the sweet warmth cooled. And it was cold enough.
She shivered, pulling her jacket more securely around her, and hunching her shoulders further. It was no help. She quickened her pace.
She didn't have much farther to go, she kept telling herself. Just a little farther—
She felt a drop of rain on her head. Was it going to rain, finally? Anything would be better then this bitter cold, the overcast skies looming ahead, ever threatening, but seemingly waiting, making you feel as if you were walking headfirst into a trap.
But she saw nor felt no second drop. The stillness was unnerving. Even the plants were silent, though she hadn't been able to hear them as well lately as she had in the early days of her wizardry. She could feel a sense of mounting dread emanated from everything around her, though. It didn't do much to put her mind at ease.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flickering movement, white and silver, the sound of a high pitched scream—
It was a white picket, gate, swaying in the wind thought its silver hinges screamed in protest.
She let out a breath that she didn't realize she'd been holding; she hadn't been able to sort out the protesting of her lungs from the building pressure of the cutting fear rising inside her.
She picked up her feet and moved with urgent, jerky steps, walking as fast as possible without breaking into a run.
You're alone here, you're alone, she told herself. The thought wasn't as comforting as it was meant to be.
It was both true and a lie, in the worse senses of both.
At least he's here, she thought. Though a little voice in the back of her mind was saying, but with Him here, he might not be anymore…
That lit a fire under her. She began to run, frantically, desperately…
Please, please, please…
And there he was, a single silhouette, wonderfully, absurdly colorful against all the shades of grey and dreariest blue. She slowed, eventually coming to a stop just in front of him.
She realized the droplets falling at her feet weren't sweat or rain…
He reached out and began to wipe one of her tears away, and, suddenly realizing the intimacy of the action, began to move through it quickly, flicking the tear away almost impatiently, eager shove his hand back into the safety of his pocket. He wouldn't look at her, which was just as well as she was just as embarrassed as he was, though more because she was crying then because he was helping her hide the evidence. And also because of why she was crying, not for fear for herself, but because she was afraid for him…
He looked up at her suddenly, and gave her a small smile that she took to mean he'd heard that last thought.
"Damn," she muttered.
His smile grew, but it didn't reach his eyes, there was still so much fear and sadness there…she knew her own eyes must be no different.
She looked away, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, not knowing what to do with herself.
"Why did we think it would be a good idea to split up, again?" she asked, eventually, her voice high pitched and shaky.
"I don't know," he said, his voice gruff. "I guess the shock overwhelmed our common sense."
They fell into silence again, neither looking at the other.
She felt the cinnamon bun in her hand and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore.
What was this place? Another world, of course, but what was the point? What was He playing at, making a world that wasn't just empty, but seemed as though there had been life as early as that morning, but it had been cruelly snatched away. That cinnamon bun had still had been hot, fresh out of the oven, and it didn't cook itself…
"Kit…" she started, but it was as far as she got before she doubled over, feeling as though the air had been knocked out of her.
That feeling was then replaced with queasiness. Everything was spinning, she didn't know if she was lying down or standing up. Then her world went black.
She heard Kit's alarmed shout, oh it sounded so far away…and then she couldn't hear anything but the sound of cold, cruel and all too familiar laughter.
AN: I started this a long time ago as an exercise to practice descriptions. Now I have a stomach bug, it's very annoying and very boring and found this when going through the files on my computer and decided to work on it. Reviews would make me very, very happy, and I could use something to make me happy today. Please and thank you!