This is really short and strange but I kind of like it. The result (as so many of my stories are) of being very bored in class the other day.
January 1915
"My name is Mary," she introduced herself to the awkward-looking young man. "You must be a new arrival." He was clearly startled. "Don't worry, I know it's strange."
"I'm Matthew," he offered, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Have you been here long?"
"Two years," she replied, "and a bit."
"How did it happen?" He flushed and rushed to say, "Never mind, you don't have to answer that."
"It's all right." She smiled. "It was childbirth. Toxemia."
"I'm sorry."
"Why? It wasn't your fault."
"No, I mean, my father was a doctor and so I know—erm, it's not a pleasant way to go."
"No," she said softly. "It isn't. And it's even worse for your family who has to watch, and remember..." She shook herself and asked, "What about you?"
"It was very quick," he answered apologetically. "A bullet to the head—I don't remember it at all."
"In the war?"
"Yes. So you know about that?"
"Some—I check on my son every once in a while, and I learn things."
His face brightened. "So we can visit them?"
"Yes, but don't go too often," she advised. "Who do you want to see?"
"My mother and my fiancée," he said.
"Your fiancée," she echoed. "Oh, I am sorry." She patted his hand. "Were you due to marry soon?"
"We hadn't set a date yet. She thought it might jinx it, or—I don't know." He squared his shoulders. "She'll be all right."
"I'm sure."
"And your son? He's two now?"
"Yes, last August." She smiled sadly. "I've missed so much. No one who knew me before would have thought me very maternal, but I was rather looking forward to being a mother."
"He was your first, then?"
"My one and only," she murmured. Then she looked slightly indignant. "Why? How old do you think I was?"
"I don't know," he said, the tips of his ears turning red.
"Well, I was nineteen."
"Nineteen!" he repeated. "You seem older than that—more mature, I mean."
"Being here will do that, I suppose," she said. "You'll see."
He pondered that for some minutes. "So do we just stay here forever?" he asked.
She nodded. "It's not a bad place to stay forever, on the whole."
He took the time to look around. They were in a green meadow, filled with wildflowers and bright with sunshine. Some ways away, there was a huge tree. For the first time, he noticed other people sitting in the vast expanse of meadow as well.
"No, it isn't," he agreed. "Do you talk to the others?"
"Sometimes." She shrugged. "They're not very interesting."
He smiled, wondering if that meant she found him interesting and feeling quite pleased at the idea.
"You know what Nietzsche said?" she went on. "'In heaven all the interesting people are missing.' I think that's true."
"Well, we're here," he said, chuckling at his own joke. Then his face grew serious. "Or are we just uninteresting?"
She raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps you won't be as boring as the rest."
"I'll try my best not to be," he promised.