Gilbert Beilschmidt never talked about his past. "I just don't remember much about it," he told his best friends, Francis and Antonio, shrugging off their inquiries as if the subject was so unimportant that it wasn't even worth retelling. But in actuality, Gilbert remembered every single aspect of his childhood like it was yesterday, and it came back for him to relive it every night in his dreams. The dream never changed- in fact, the Prussian almost had the dialogue memorized by now- but he still felt the heart-wrenching pain that came along with the memory every time that he was reminded of that day. This night was no different.
The forest was laden with zebra stripes of shady light, and an uncharacteristic silence had fallen, as if the whole world had descended into the ground and only two people remained in the entire world; Gilbert wouldn't have had it any other way.
He quietly took another step, waiting for the telltale sign of his location, but none came, and he smiled wickedly. Sharp eyes carefully analyzed the scene before him, and then he saw it: a large buck, long neck poised lazily in the air, wet eyes dancing over the scene before it nonchalantly. Gilbert didn't even have the compassion to notice the picturesque scene. All he could think about was how that meaty game would look precisely in his crosshairs and the look on Eli's face when he heard the deliberate shot.
Eli.
He had not seen his friend since he wandered off in another direction, towards the creek bed. Gilbert didn't like the creek bed- it was full of snakes and lizards that just loved nibbling at his little bird, which faithfully beelined behind his master whenever he went hunting. But Eli's tracking senses weren't something to joke around about- he had a knack for the woods that gave any challenger a run for their money. That's why Gilbert was so eager to take the buck down. He hadn't heard a shot yet; he still had time to get something before his friend did, and even more time to gloat about it afterwards.
Gilbert took another stealthy step, silently wooing the deer towards him in an attempt to get a better shot. He held up his beloved gun, finger hovering on the trigger, and he watched for the buck. Finally, it stepped out from behind the brush, unsuspecting, without a care in the world. It didn't even know that its life was about to end; it had no time to say last words, to reminisce on times past. It could never gallop home to its best friend and say goodbye one last time before it was gone, just with one simple twitch of a human's finger.
Grinning, he listened to the ricocheting shot as it billowed through the whole wood, and he watched his perfect aim take the buck down- just like that.
The dream changed.
He saw him- her- again, for the last time, although he did not know that it was the last time at the moment, and all the emotions felt the exact same as they had that day.
She was wearing a brightly-colored dress that complimented her eyes and made them gleam in the dimly-lit room filled with people. They drank wine and conversed animatedly to the faint sounds of Mozart that lingered in the smoky air. It was a spurious mood, like something from a low-budget silent movie. At least, that's what Gilbert thought from his spot behind a heaping pot of delicious-smelling, exotic flowers. Then again, his tuxedo was too large and it was itchy, so he was in a rather bad mood to begin with.
Suddenly, the music intensified, and the floor was immediately ample with dancing couples, twirling and smiling like there wasn't a care in the world. Nobody wanted to admit that behind their skinny legs and laughter, there was an internal despair. This was how they dealt with it, Gilbert guessed. He preferred to sulk and spy.
There he- she- was, Elizaveta. "Elizaveta," he tried, the word gliding off his tongue, but it didn't do justice to her. He was enchanted by her graceful figure, snug in her dress, which, even though plain, glued every eye in the room onto her and her partner. He saw a pair of long fingers wrap around her waist and pull her forward. They floated on air across the dance floor, not needing choreography, like the dance steps were written with the staff. They made no conversation, they only gazed lovingly into the other's eyes like there was nobody else on the planet. Her bare legs peeped out from under her skirt as she spun. She smiled like he had never seen her smile before.
How did one make Elizaveta smile like that?
Gilbert woke up before he could finish the dream, before he was finished looking at her, content with someone else who wasn't him. He was sweating and suddenly his bed was uncomfortable. He jumped up and forced his eyes wide, even though his pupils were seriously delayed in their dilation and the light burnt a hole in his retinas.