Regrets

AN: The challenge: Write a scene - yes, just a scene, no backstory called for - at the grave of a newsie. Any length, but remember... it's a scene. A snapshot, if you will. I was feeling kind of angsty at the time, so here is the result. Remember, no flames and please review!


She stood, watching through brown watery eyes. The bitter wind and icy blasts made her cheeks rouge and her small nose grow increasingly red. Clear, salty tears made their way down her pale cheeks and jaw line. The black coat she had around her shoulders practically cut off her circulation because it was wrapped around her tiny frame so tightly. Her small hands were stuffed roughly in the coat pockets, covered by leather gloves. Her denim jeans offered little protection from the evil December weather and the two layers of socks she had on inside her snow boots did nothing.

The sky above her looked eerie, black and dark gray clouds loomed like death and the sharp whistling of the wind whipped in her ears like a million tiny screams of pain. Just what I need right now, she thought. More mentions of death.

Questions of every kind were racing throughout her mind. Why did this happen? Why did it have to happen to him? What caused it? She knew why he was gone, though she did not want to grasp the concept. He was sick, he had been for a long time. It was going on three years before he really began to feel anything and went to a doctor. When he was finally diagnosed, he only suffered two months.

Two months of pain, two months of loneliness for she had been in London at the time, starting another scene in her new movie. She got the call two weeks before he died.

She felt a presence walk up behind her and felt the warm hand rest on her shoulder. She put her own hand on top of his and attempted to wipe away the tears of sorrow with her other.

"I should have been there for him," she said.

"Hollywood, it's not your fault. He knew you were busy and he didn't want to-"

"It is my fault, Mush. I told him I would call him every night after filming and did I? No. I always figured that he would understand," she gave a silent sob.

"You couldn't have seen this coming. He didn't even see it coming. Although I did warn him that smoking was bad for his health but you know how he is. Always living life on the edge," she could hear a small grin in his voice. She finally turned to face Mush and the two locked gazes, chocolate brown meeting hazel. His lovely hazel ones, however, were red and his cheeks were just as tear stained as hers and, unlike her, he had not wiped them away. The wind froze them in place and the smallest tear drop looked like an icicle.

"Did he-did he talk about me much while I was gone?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of what the answer might be. Mush just smiled.

"Every day. Sometimes I couldn't get him to shut up," he laughed, but she only mustered a sad smile. The overwhelming urge to cry again swept over her so she turned around sharply, facing the gravestone once again. Her lower lip quivered and before she knew it, before she could stop it, they came down again like a flood. She covered her face in her hands and she felt Mush's strong arms wrap around her, not only to keep her from shivering but to comfort and protect.

"There was nothing you could do," he whispered soothingly in her ear. "Lung cancer has no cure. He knew you loved him and he didn't tell you sooner because he didn't want to worry you. You were following your dream and he didn't want to ruin it."

"He should have ruined it. I would rather not have my acting career than not be with him. I would die myself to be with him, to be loved by him." She sobbed into her hands. Mush sighed and gazed intently at the gravestone a while longer before calling it quits and pulling her along to his warm car.

Trey Marshall

"Kid Blink"

1979-2004

Loving husband, devoted friend, and will be greatly missed

Rest In Peace