It wasn't intended to be sad or even slightly depressing in the beginning, but I eventually changed the story's direction. There were a lot more incomplete sentences here that were also scripted for some reason or another.
'Rumor has it that if you walk around the pond three times with your significant other, you'll be bonded for life'
Inhale, exhale; the first step has been taken. Left foot, right foot; yet another step has been completed. The feel of grass under bare, dirt smudged feet scintillates the senses. A soft rustle of fabric fills the air as a gust of wind softly toys with strands of pink and blonde hair. A twitch of nervous fingers, and a hand interlock with softer, slimmer ones.
The fluttering of fireflies and the quiet lapping of water make a marvelous sight to behold. The moon shines brightly through cloudless skies adorned with countless stars. The lovers continue walking anyway, heedless of anything but the presence of each other. They are mere black dots bathed in the pale streaks of moonlight.
A soft crunch of leaves underfoot, and yet another step has been taken. Two lovers, two humans, one unity. The pond, dark and glistening, reflects their images within its lifeless depths as they quietly walk the water body's circumference.
Her eyes twinkles, but his dilate, his pupils shrinking as his hands tremble with greater intensity. Thrice the two makes their journey around the vast pond. He rests his head on shoulder; in response, she tugs away and starts jogging, gently goading him to give chase. He does so, and with a small shriek, she falls when he pounces and tackles her to the ground.
Soft breathing turns harsher, more ragged as they attempt to catch their breath as they roll about on the grass. A chuckle echoes from her throat while he responds with a playful glare. Soft pink lips part, and near-perfect rows of white teeth flash as the two young adults embrace, wrapping their arms around the other.
Crickets chirp quietly while frogs noisily punctuate the silences in between with methodical croaking. A willow tree casts its leafy branches towards the two, galvanized by tendrils of wind. The distant murmurs of faraway students, a soft serenade of jazz melodies, and a harsh blaze of lights from a city nearby drift towards Passion Puddle.
Foreheads meet and lips quietly crash together. Two pairs of eyes close, and in the tiniest fraction of a second, hearts, lungs, and minds fail to function. A sharp intake of breath and an unwilling separation force them apart. A sly motion of a hand removes a black felt box. She squeals in delight upon recognition of the box's identity and makes a promise, an unbreakable vow.
A month, an engagement, and a convocation of friends.
Applause fills the air as hundreds learn of the two's upcoming marriage. Delighted, they participate in the festivities and planning. Step by step and day by day, Passion Puddle grows, and the thrum of excited voices lift to the skies.
A marriage, a reception, a honeymoon.
Once again, they stand, oblivious to anybody but each other in the world. Her elegant white dress majestically flutters behind her like a royal cape. A tiara is perched on top of voluminous hair, somewhat identical to the matching crown nestled in shining blonde strands. Identical diamond rings glints in the rapidly dimming light as they both enter with a throng of faithful friends behind. Right feet autonomously step forward, and the first notes of a serenade commence.
A Japanese female and a young German male look at each other with barely concealed looks of glee as faint red tinges on their cheeks steadily grow darker. Behind them, another young man occupies his time with foodstuffs, an aging dog curled around his heels.
A decade, a child, a hearse.
Rain drips steadily on the coffin as it is lowered into the ground. Gripping three of her dad's finger's, a young girl at her dad's side wonders what is going on and why people were gathered around a hole in the ground. She asks for her mother constantly, but people kept on pointing to a long, wooden box sitting adjacent to the hole. She would never know what happened to her mother until many years passed, and the young girl blossomed into a springy teenager placed within foster care.
A half-century of despair and denial take their toll on the young father, but he refuses to see it; instead, he shoves it roughly away in the hopes of somehow recovering from the metaphoric dark pit he fell into. Many times have his friends attempted to coerce him to attend psychiatrists, but he would always miss them. The phone would continue ringing for him as the doctors continually attempted to connect, calling the husk of the person he once was. Calling, calling, calling. Always calling. The ringing echoed through the empty home, though his blank mind.
A broken man, a dream, a hospital.
A blonde-haired daughter and a group of three friends gather around his bedside and take turns comfortingly holding his hand. The man hardly recognizes the few who made the desperate journey to ensure he would not die alone and desperately calls for his long-deceased wife. His friends are reluctant to tell him that she wasn't alive anymore, instead clenching their hands into fists and bitterly weeping.
Still, he calls for the pinkette he longs for- a woman who once lived and breathed.
Even as his dying brain fails him, he can still hear her voice, rich with lighthearted whimsicality as she speaks to him through the supercomputer's speakers a month after he found her hidden away in a clandestine lab far underground an abandoned car factory.
"I can hear you breathing."
A silent tear leaves a glistening trail on his cheek as the last memories fade away; the ECG unit beside him loudly shrieks before quieting to a steady, monotonous beep.