Work Text:
10.
A girl with braided [h/c] locks sits on the wooden bench, next to the recently painted white fence. She looks to the side to find another boy her age using said paint rather sloppily.
She decides to pay it no mind as she places a thick book on her lap. Her childish fingers fumble to open the book through the page which had been marked by a piece of white paper with a dried poppy glued on it and starts her reading.
A shadow casts over her book, as she looks up to find the face of a curious boy.
"What are you reading?"
She puts a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Maybe you know this book." She smiles: "'The adventures of Tom Sawyer'."
His eyes light up as she proudly announces the title of the work.
5.
Autumn breeze make the pages flip back to their original position. Gold and orange covers the grey pavement as the empty trees complain against the strength of the wind.
She brings her scarf closer to her, now, reddened nose, as the tips of her fingers delight in the warmth of the wool of it.
She rips her attention from the book as she catches sight of the familiar flame-like hair. The woman doesn't bother to stand up, as he was plenty able to get there on his own.
Soon enough, he was next to her.
"Honestly... Do you always have to wear the waistcoat's buttons undone?"
He waves her hands away, shaking his head and bringing a fist to his chest: "I don't need to do that, it isn't that cold out here and even if I get sick, I'm sure there are many doctors that are able to cure it in this country!"
"It definitely is cold, though." She tells him, while he starts one of his pointless conversations about how people were too sensitive to the cold.
2.
The clear sky of August reflects in her own eyes, the Moon hangs lazily in the middle of the swarm of stars, that actively try to enlighten the darkness they are surrounded of.
Her eyes found his, as the man, now in his twenties, had wrapped his arm around her waist, noses touching, his breath on her lips, her hands on his chest.
"What's the meaning of this?" She whispers for only his ears to hear, as the sounds of people, probably intoxicated, fills the dead of the midnight.
It was probably the first time he had ever adverted his eyes out of embarrassment.
"What do you think?" He replies, just as lowly.
She closes her eyes, rejoying in the intimacy of the moment.
"I think a lot of things."
0.
Wake up
0%
He is aware of what he is doing.
27%
He knows he will regret it.
34%
But she wasn't supposed to know.
49%
Or that's what they told him.
56%
Tom seems to be telling him something about Huckleberry's position being ready.
70%
The scope opens up.
83%
Snow starts falling slowly, then steadily, sticking to the floor.
95%
She turns around, she looks up, as if she had known all along.
100%
She smiles.
His finger is on the trigger.
"I wish you hadn't known."
And the dainty snow is tainted crimson,
With her blood.