Clara Oswin Oswold

„A man dies as often as he loses his friends." - Francis Bacon

Rossi

I looked at the woman, who saved life our young genius. Unknown was a trained sniper, since Reid's death separated us only a brief hesitation, and the path your finger on the trigger. Thus until moments before she appeared. Suddenly she just picked up from the crowd exactly at that fateful moment. Unknown fired, but he didn't hit Reid, but her. She fell to the ground, her chest flooded with blood. Reid without discretion immediately caught her in his arms. The people in the hall began to panic, madly screaming and started to run away to safety. There were two more shots, but this time no one was hurt, and then it gave unknown. Evidently he decided that in the hall is too big panic and that his hiding place may will by reveal. He decided to wait for another, better opportunity.

Girl, it was still a girl. She had beautiful brown hair tied in a bun, a chocolate eyes, small ie upturned and a provocative smile with dimples. She wore a checkered dress below the knee, black tights and black shoes. She was beautiful and she had a whole life ahead of her. She smiled at Reid gently. She reached up and brushed Reid's a lock of hair behind the ear. The lock of hair that had fallen into his face contorted in pain.

"You're safe," she paused. "Safe, I saved you again," she whispered.

What did should mean? She knew it? It was no coincidence that at that moment she stood between Reid and the bullet. But how? She knows the unknown, she knows Reid? If I know, Reid did not mention that he knew someone so charming, that's how...

Someone called an ambulance, but by the time they get here, it will be too late. Reid tried to stop the bleeding, but she stopped him. She looked at him as if she was saying something, what they both knew.

"Run you clever boy and remember," girl again stroked Reid's face and then breathed his last.

"Who was she?" I heard behind me a hesitant voice of Emily. I looked on her desk.

"Oswin Oswald," I read in one paper.

"Clara," Reid groaned.

"Yes, Clara Oswin Oswald," I said.

"It's always Clara, always. Impossible girl, "he whispered between sobs Reid and rocked her in his arms. I was confused, as well as my colleagues. Always, how always? "A woman who was born, who lived just to save me." It was absurd statement, defective, psychopathic. "Clara, Clara, my angel, a woman who is saving me at every time and space. My impossible Clara."

Reid was obviously out. He lost a loved one, now not worth interrogate him, he didn't know what really speaks. Now he needed the support, peace and protection. I gently squeezed his arm and began to drag him somewhere far away from it all.

"Those people whose life is valuable are the least afraid of death." - Immanuel Kant