idylles.

They sat together on the love seat, his hands gently caressing her.

      "I don't usually talk to you, except to scold, but have I told you... you're the most beautiful thing."

You have, on many occasions.  I've never reciprocated.

      "These are the best times."

Yes.

      "You listen to everything I say."

You listen to none of what I try to say.

      

   Silence.  Ears adjusted, and the gentle tick of the clock cracked the sphere of quiet each second.  

Computer hummed along with her.

He stroked her neck with one hand, leaning to kiss her forehead.

   The clock sounded: seven thirty exactly.

      "I'll see you in nine hours."

Mmmmmmmm.

As he opened the front door, a blast of cold wind seeped through and wrapped her fiercely in its embrace, made her open her mouth in surprise.

He looked back

      "Good girl."

She looked up

meow

look.

"Be still with me."

      Soft blades of wind spent past the tunnel entrance, propeller seeds wafted along by them, scattered in front of the hole.  Rinna knelt slowly, her fingers gently embracing the last dandelion, inevitably wilting, alive but waiting, waiting to die.  Clocks began to tick inside her head.  Her mouth formed a small "O" as she turned and saw the frigid, angry storm clouds forming in the distance.

      "Ben.  Ben!"  No response.  It was always like this; too late, and why?  Because

      A dry lump formed in Rinna's throat as she peered into the tunnel, greeted by an unlikely object to her face - a - what was it?  "Boo."  Up, away, out of the tunnel it flew, one single
balloon

      Ben's voice startled her - she'd thought he was still asleep.  Looking up, she caught the double sensation of the mischievous sparkle in his eye and the ceiling of the tunnel knocking against her head at the same time.

      He smiled

   She didn't

      "We need to go, now.  Come on.   And, don't do that again."
             "Do what?"
      "Scare me."

      Ben's hand closed around hers.

"Be still with me."
   "But...!"
"Rinna."

            "I left the casserole in the oven."

jim.

Little girls in bright dresses run around the yard. Flower children. The boys are in one corner, plotting some game with a stick and a ball and a hoop - fighting over details.

He sits alone.

His toe makes a line in the dirt, then another, two dots. A smile looks up at him. He smiles back.

"Jim," he says to the smile, "I'll call you, Jim."

Jim just smiles.

The boy draws a house for Jim and a pony with a cart. He draws him a whole smiling family with a little bow on the youngest sister's head. There is a pile of candy canes and a piano with carefully drawn keys. Jim smiles at each new addition. The boy smiles back, wider and wider.

"Whatcha doin, loser?"

He doesn't answer. 

The older boy laughs at the pictures, "Baby! Come and show us if you're actually good at anything worthwhile!" With two kicks, Jim and all his things are wiped away in a pile of dirt and the destroyer runs back to his friends.

Alone again, the boy sits and stares at the place where Jim once smiled. Then, he gets up and hobbles away on his crutch, sniffing back the tears that threaten to betray his weakness.

Why, Jim? Why? Why couldn't you be stronger?

runaway.

“Do you like to dance?”

“No.”

“I saw you once… dancing in the rain when you thought no one saw,” he says trying to catch the delicate hand, laden with sapphires and pearls.

“It wasn’t me.” Her hand slips through his fingers and she fixes a stray wave of amber that has escaped her intricate braids.

“Who was it then?”

“I don’t know.”

He touches her arm but she jerks away and turns toward the window. Tears burn hot in her eyes but they do not fall. She does not let them.

“Please, Cecilia. Dance with me.”

His hands close around hers. She does not look up at him when he leads her to the middle of the floor and spins her around but a single drop traces its way down her cheek.

When the dance brings her close to him again she whispers, “I have a story to tell you.”

“Tell me.”

“Once there was a girl who no one truly saw, they thought they did but they only saw what they wanted to see and not what she truly was. They told her what to do and what to say and how she must live out her future. And one day, she could not stand it anymore so she decided to leave, to run away. To take on a new name and new life. She never came back.”

“Cecilia –“ She holds up a finger, stopping him.

“It’s Joan now. Maybe you’ll find me again one day."

She kicks off her shoes and runs out the terrace door.

He looks for hours but all he can find is a strand of pearls, abandoned under a maple tree.