Author's note: This story was written by a back and forth messaging.
Background: The story takes place in London. The main character's name is Amelia. She has shoulder length, messy, blonde hair. Her eyes are green, with brown spots the color of honey. When she was younger she was taken into a concentration camp named Larkhill. She was taken there as she spoke freely about who she is, a person who doesn't identify as anything. Not a woman, not a man. After an unexplained explosion in 1992 she was freed from the camp and returned to normal life in London. After a year of living in the city she decided to return to her childhood house that was hidden away in the outskirts of the city.
They were sitting on the old, antique bed in the grey room, that had a view on the entrance porch. The dust that collected on the wooden furniture tickled her nose. Her hair was resting on her back, and her hands on her thighs. "You hate me, don't you?" She spoke with a rather shaky voice and opened her eyes,turning her face to his. There was no expression on his face that could tell her what he was thinking or feeling. Silence filled the room once again, as he remained quiet. Disappointed in the lack of answer, she stood up from the bed. Her shirt rose up and revealed her scarred belly. She walked to the window, and a slight breeze hugged her hips. All he could see now was her silhouette and untamed strands of blonde hair.
His presence drove her crazy. She wanted them to be something more than just strangers. She wanted to be something more for him than just a stranger who took him off of the streets. She felt like she could get the comfort with him that she lost years ago when she was taken away. But he just wouldn't want to give it to her. She was being selfish, for the sake of her own sanity. She turned around to face him. Her back was pressed against the cool glass. He was lost in his thoughts. Looking up at the ceiling, thinking. His fingers were braided together, and he was still quiet. Not being able to look at this wreck of a man, she walked out of the room. "I will make us some tea" she said swiftly as she walked into the kitchen. It was a medium sized room, the surface of the walls was painted white. By the right wall, there was a dark brown table accompanied by four chairs. The room was perfectly clean, no dust, no smears, no nothing. Amelia tried to make the house feel as normal as she could. She walked to the stove and grabbed the kettle off of the grill ring. She took it over to the sink and placed it on the counter by it. She pulled the handle up and to the left. Grabbing the kettle, she pulled off the lid, and poured water into the boiler. She then to put it on the stove and raised the heat up. The woman sighed silently and walked back to the sink. After pulling the handle down, she reached up to the cupboard to get a packet of tea.
Amelia walked away. Thom could discern the way she walked. Her gate was unique, and she had been hurting. He could notice that there was something different about her. He couldn't comprehend emotions anymore, but it was evident that Amelia was desperate for something, but he couldn't understand what. He got up and walked around the house. This was a rundown place but Amelia was still trying her best to make it look presentable and warm. She was the only one that knew about this place that was hiding deep in the woods. She had brought him here and it took him a while to feel at home. The spare amount of books on the shelves reminded him of his old red paint was wearing down on the walls, and there were cobwebs on the ceiling. As he stepped, the creaking on the floor was too evident. It was a dissolute place, yet it was their home. He wondered how the place was before the war. It must have been beautiful.
He wandered into a room which he rarely explored. It was dark, and on the corner, there was a something, which he couldn't perceive. It was dusty, yet it drew him closer. As he came close, he opened the cover that overlay the object. It was a piano. The memories of his youth rushed, once again in his life, he has experienced joy. He sat down on the stool that was covered with velvet fabric. With his left hand he played a vibration that rung through the air and shook his heart. Amelia heard this too, she didn't know what the sound was or where it was coming from. And again, he hit another note. With just his left hand he started playing, slowly. The air became thick and he could feel a shift in the heart. The colors in the room became more defined. From the dull red walls to walls that were dripping red patches. The sunlight pierced through the window. The melodious sound of music reminded him of his past.