/-/-/ Excerpt from Remember the Light /-/-/

Please Read: This is an excerpt from a piece I'm currently working on that I have tentatively titled Remember the Light. It's a step out of my norm. First, I'm attempting a new writing style (kind of) in a hopes to make what I write better. Second, it's the wrong genre, it's horror (with romance and bromance of course). But yes its a step in a genre that I'm so paranoid I'll disappoint. Well more so than the usual.

So while this excerpt is of the romantic genre (sorry no horror yet) any constructive criticism, thoughts, or general comments would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks and I hope you enjoy.

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Quinn dug about the cavernous expanses of her tattered vest for a passing moment before extracting an engraved silver cigarette case and Pac-Man Zippo, the sight of the objects bringing about a mixed sensation of melancholy and joy.

Biting back the inner emotion pale digits brought the cancer stick to her lips soon followed by the lone flame.

The first intake soothed on impact, pushing the woes and misfortunes of the world to the furthest recesses of her mind. Absently, Quinn ran her unoccupied fingers over the well worn Zippo. It was habit: snap the head piece open, flick the flint-wheel, silence the flame, repeat.

"I thought you quit."

Hazel eyes snapped upward.

There, hesitantly shifting her weight back and forth at the entrance to Quinn's school sanctuary, was Rachel.

The moment their gaze met Quinn dropped her eyes to the Zippo dangling haphazardly between her fingers.

"Would it be alright with you if I had a seat?" If the hesitance hadn't been evident in her form than the vibrato in her voice was a dead give away.

In an instant Quinn was on her feet snubbing the existence of her virtually untouched fag before dusting away at the concrete 'bench'. "Oh yeah, sorry. They aren't the best, as is to be expected from the hollowed expanses beneath high school bleachers. But at least it isn't filled to the rafters with half-time hot dogs and nacho mix. That would be rather unfortunate and well appalling really. If it wasn't fo-"

"Quinn," Rachel whispered as she placed a palm upon the football player's Zippo possessing forearm. All was silent as Rachel waited for the other to meet her gaze. When she didn't the singer exhaled, "It's perfect, see?" She assured, seating herself on the cold cement block and tugging the girl into the place next to her.

Voices filtered in from the gaps in the bleachers. Cheerio practice, ultimate Frisbee? It didn't matter what the source. Why couldn't she open her mouth? Ask her how her day had been? What she was singing for Friday's Glee assignment? Not even a comment on the new attire? Internally Quinn groaned. This was perhaps her only chance to just be with Rachel - no looming Finn, other classmates, just them being as they once had - and she was squandering it.

Timidly Rachel fidgeted with the hem of her pleated skirt, "I spoke to Michael today. He was withdrawn, or well more so than on any given day." She paused. "Or when he's with you," Was whispered, more to herself than Quinn. "But I suppose that is to be expected with what transpired last week. The death of Damien Harris was a tragedy in and of itself but for him, and yourself for that matter, to have been present," A shiver passed through her frame, "Is heartbreaking."

Noting the telltale signs of a long winded oration – overly ridged posture, flexing of the finger tips, a twitch at the lips corner – Quinn offered her hand and in turn an escape. Not from the paragraphs she knew and loved Rachel to speak in, but of the conversation in itself. Yes, Rachel cared for Michael and of his safety and wellbeing and perhaps this conversation would have been normal for any others. But not for Rachel. Not for herself. They were grasping at straws, trying to extinguish the uncomfortable silence that had as of recent developed between them, to bridge a broken gap.

Rachel's frame sunk, shoulders pitching forth, all nagging lessons of proper posture forgotten, "What happened to us Quinn?"

"We drifted apart," Offered Quinn and in an aim to still the oncoming tremors she busied her vacant hand with the task of mussing her short cropped cerise hair, "All friends drift apart sooner or later."

Almost as quickly as the words had left her lips Quinn saw Rachel rise. She appeared distressed and livid.

"You don't believe that," She snapped. Chocolate orbs narrowed and an accusing finger was thrust Quinn's way, "Say it without tugging frantically at your gorgeous hair or fumbling with that nerdy Pac-Man Zippo I know you carry every where."

Quinn froze seemingly caught between obeying the brunette's commands and playing the card of defiance. But what would it matter? Both would lead to the same end result.

Tears built in Rachel's eyes as she took in Quinn's silence, "Why?" She murmured, "Was I that horrible of a friend to you?" The mere thought sickened her sending a wave a physical pain through her body. "What did I do Quinn?" It didn't matter what she had done, Rachel was determined to get it right, "Tell me Quinn, tell me so I can make a mends of it and we can go back to the way we were."

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