Ilse's face was dark, sullen, sunken. It may have been the way the moonlight lit her face that made her angles sharper, or the glow of her single candle that made the shadows harsher. But either way, the place she sat held all the darkness in the world to her. Her knees were drawn up to her chin, and a girlish gaze that stared into the night replaced her womanly charm. Ilse did not cry. She was never good at that, no emotions, she told herself, unless it was one of real, pure joy. That was one that she could never hold in, but one she had not felt in too long. A year ago, her life changed. One year older, one year without him, one year to get over it to move on. It was not that easy.
The bakery in town, the same place Ilse would catch him behind some nights, his face streaky and red. The house she used to play in when she was young, the street they all had lived on. So warm in the Summer, brutally frigid in the Winter. All these places brought back painfully happy memories, sometimes vivid flashbacks that brought her to her hands and knees in the middle of the town.
Those flashbacks had grown increasingly stronger, more realistic. Ilse could smell him, reach out and ruffle his unruly hair, but in an instant, he would be gone. And she would go back to reality on the ground, people chattering about her as they passed.
Ilse jolted, hugging her knees closer to her body as she felt all sense of her body leaving her. Her eyes grew dark, and slowly faded into dusk. She was running, in her head her feet made no sound as they traveled swiftly over the brush. A glint of light. She stopped in her tracks. Ahead of her was her childhood friend. Her adolescent love. The boy she admired. He started, and she ran to him, coming just short of grabbing him into a massive hug. Instead, she extended her hand. He stared at her, and shook his head. Ilse felt a stabbing pain as she opened her eyes once again to the similar scene, minus a few details. He was perfect, just the way she remembered him.
This spot. This exact area. In fact, there was a sick hole in the tree behind her. Ilse liked to believe that the hole held a bullet. She craned her head to gaze at the tree. A little piece of him lay inside that tree. The boy, who at such a young age, she fell in love with. And he ll never know. She turned her head away and raked her hands through her hair, standing up quickly, her breath building. Ilse was dressed inappropriately for the season, she wore a powder-blue romper, feet bare. She was, in a nutshell, a mess. As she paced the area, Ilse stumbled and tripped over a clump of wildflowers. With a cry of sorrow, she reached down and scooped up the flowers, throwing them crudely on the ground. She collapsed once again, a downward spiral, her head spinning.
It was Springtime, three years ago. And Ilse sat cross-legged in a beautiful meadow, threading a crown of purple wildflowers together. The crown was too big for her head, so she leaned forward, and put it on his. At first he smiled, then suddenly shook it off, and looked around like he was guilty. She gave him a sad, pouty look...
And snapped back to reality. She could no longer handle these daydreams. They were torture to anyone else the memories would be a blessing. But so vivid, so real..the sunlight in her eyes, the breeze on her skin. Ilse rose and jumped, slamming her feet on the ground as hard as she could over and over until she was breathless.
She stopped, close to tears, heart thumping in her chest.
"You!" Ilse cried out into the night, rounding on the tree and pounding her fist once onto the trunk. It was a pain like none other, deeply etched into her soul, the backs of her eyelids. It was what she lived in, dreamed in, and it was too, too much. She collapsed to the ground, back to the tree, and reached her fingertips out towards the small handgun Ilse had buried in the brush. It was time to go, the same way he did. It was to honor him. One less pesky child to worry about, one more hole in the tree. A piece of her to be with him always.
This spot would become cursed. No one would be allowed in the woods again. Ilse sobbed harder as she drew the gun closer to her head. Would anyone even notice she was gone? Would they ask, Where is Ilse? I haven t seen her in hours! . Days. A week. The barrel was in her mouth now. Resting in between her teeth. No one would miss her. One hand was in her hair, grabbing it with such force it made her eyes water. Ilse cocked it and threw her back fiercely against the tree, scraping her back on the bark. She was an outcast. No better than Melchior Gabor was now, a demon, a germ, a disease. This was for him, her love, Moritz. With a calming breath, her sobbing ceased and she looked up into the dark sky. Ilse closed her lips around the barrel and squeezed her eyes shut. The time was now. She spoke through the barrel.
"I love you."
And pulled.
