It had started out as a simple infatuation.
He remembered stealing glances at her during the three periods they had together while the teacher lectured time away until the class became numb. And sometimes, she would glance quickly at him. Their eyes would meet and then she would quickly advert them elsewhere, pretending she saw nothing. And sometimes, he would smile.
This is the shy attraction that most junior high schoolers would call, "love". When in reality; it is simple infatuation. But, unlike a majority of infatuations, an infatuation can turn to attraction to a person's personality. Or, "like".
He remembered seeing her at the bus stop one day, so frantically lost. So out of his infatuation and pity for her, he had helped her to her bus. Which he had been boarding also.
He offered her a seat right next to him, but she quickly declined and had moved to the opposite side of the bus. But everyday after that, they talked on the way across the courtyard toward the bus. Her red eyes always beaming with happiness, and his own gray eyes tinted with amusement. Is this when the infatuation evolved into a "like"? He did not know. But he knew, eventually his feelings for her began to evolve into something larger and warmer in his soul, like a crackling winter fire growing larger as more logs are being thrown into it.
His feelings weren't obvious, so his friends never pressed him about her. (except that one time where she joined them for lunch because all her friends were sick)
But then high school had rolled around. And his fire of feelings roared higher than ever before. Maybe it was because of hormones..? (You may think that they're all going to different high schools, but actually their junior high feeds into high school)
On a cold winters day, he had to stay after school to clean up a mess he had made in the science lab. Leaving him in a basically empty building. When he walked out into the hallway after getting the last but of purple goo off the ceiling, he had noticed one person. Had it just been any other person, he would've ignored them. But this wasn't just any person. This was the person with long, spiky red hair and crimson eyes. He called out to her and she turned and craked a small smile on her pale, stotic face. They walked outside together when bits of pure white powder began to fall from the sky like cold confetti.
They walked side by side together for a peaceful amount of time when he had sneezed. He should've brought a thicker jacket...
As much as he had tried to cover it up, she had noticed it and offered him her bluebell-colored scarf, which was so long it reached past her knees. ("My brother knitted it for me," she insisted)
He refused, but she had already pulled off half of her scarf and upon her tippy-toes, wrapped it loosely around his neck. She said he couldn't refuse it now, since they were both wearing it.
The scarf was itchy and made of rough yarn. And yet, it kept him warm... He pulled a part of it over his nose. It smelled like her... Like apples and strawberry aloe vera.
It seemed too soon that they had to go their seperate ways, but he accepted it. He gave her back her scarf and went along his own way... Feeling strangely warm and fuzzy.
Had this been the "love" that everybody seems to desire? He does not know, but it does seem that way, doesn't it?
And as the years passed, his feelings grew. And grew, and grew.
But how cruel the three fates are..
On a chill October day, just the day before her favorite holiday; Halloween. It had just rained so the air was damp and cool, the streets slippery with a mix of ice and water. The day he had kissed her...
Yes, he had kissed her. Under an umbrella exactly 10:57 am that morning. It was only a simple, light kiss on the lips. But as shocked she was, she had returned it.
Later on though, 5:43 pm... Nearly five hours later... She had been hit. Got caught in the middle of a gunfire between two people. Shot in the chest and died instantly.
He didn't want to believe it. He denied it with all his might, no matter how many times the report popped up in the news and media. No matter how many times he had gone to her apartment and knocked on the door, hoping for an answer and a smile just as he had been used to. No matter how many times he had passed by the scene, seeing her body covered up by a tarp with her blood pooled all over the building walls and cement...
During the funeral he didn't cry. Even when they closed her elaborate casket and lowered the box six feet into the dirt. Even when they covered it back up and stuck a stone slab straight into the ground where she lay. He didn't even shed a tear.
He didn't cry until he had walked into her apartment with her spare keys. The place felt so cold and solem... Half a dozen boxes lined up the walls filled with the things her family was packing up.
He walked into her bedroom and went through her drawers until he had found her most important piece of clothing. Her bluebell-blue scarf. Made of scratchy yarn and was as itchy as hives. He wrapped the scarf around half of his face and inhaled deeply. It still smelled of apples and strawberry aloe vera... That's when he had began to shed tears... For the first time in years, shedding his own bottled up tears.
"I'm sorry... Cul..." he whispered to the air...
THAT'S IT! /flips table
I GIVE UP WRITING ONE SHOTS.
I tried something angsty and failed. orz
Welp. hope you enjoyed and please drop a reveiw! I would really appreciate it!
And maybe check out my other story, A Journey to the West? /shot for self-advertising
Out!
-Snowy