original fiction | her dance ;; the war is over

Aug 16, 2012 23:28

just found these, after going through my writings folders... these were written for a school creative-writing magazine...

her dance

She laughs as she dances - dances under the golden sun, bright as her scarlet hair.

You're pulled in towards her...

Her dance is addictive and you pull her against you, breathing in her ruby red hair.

It smells like Roses, just like her name.

It smells like Rain, disappearing as the sun comes out and she dances.

It smells like Everything You've Ever Wanted.

She's all you've ever wanted, you realise, as the both of you sway - sway to an inaudible beat. A beat, a rhythm, a song - only you two can hear, only you two can share... Only you two can share the dance. Because it's her dance, and she chooses the dancers.

---

But everything comes to a stop.

She's pulling away with her head turned away - your arms are outstretched to reach her. She's so close, yet so far.

A sad smile lingers on her lips.

And you can't help but understand that she's always belonged to someone else - someone that isn't you.

And you know, deep deep deep down, that you don't love her either.

And her dance is no longer shared between the two of you. Because she's chosen new dancers, a new song, a new beginning.

the 'prompt', so to say, was 'new beginnings'... so i rehashed my older harry potter fanfic and added the second part, to fit it... it was all i could do in... about 3 days...?

the war is over

The first Christmas after the war is looking grey and there's not going to be a great fat turkey roasting in the oven. Dad's still not back, not even half a year after the war's ended. And he's not the only one. All the men who were sent are not back. No-one knows where they are, not Mum, not Joseph the village leader, no-one. There's been no phone calls nor any visits telling us they died. They're just missing.

-

Christmas Day is quiet, muffled by the snow that's fallen during the night. And Dad's still not home. There's a missing place in our circle around the tree. And there is a missing pile of presents. Even little Emma asks when Dad will be back. No-one knows. She pouts and we smother her in a group hug and carols. In a second, she's laughing and singing along, but Joe gives Mum a sad smile, reaching over Emma to squeeze her hand.

Christmas dinner and Emma is carefully picking out her small sprouts. There are not many vegetables or meat or gravy, but we still pile our plates with the small roast turkey breast Mum's managed to salvage with our remaining rations. We say Grace, though we don't really believe in God anymore, not after the war, and we begin to eat slowly.

It's starting to snow again when there's a loud knock at the front door. Joe glares at me to get it and I slowly set down my knife and fork and stand up.

'Mary Elisabeth Gan-'

'What do you want, Henry?' I call back, frowning as I pull open the door to reveal my next door neighbour.

'They're back! They're back!'

'Who? Where?'

'The Missing Men! There!'

'Mum! They're back! Dad's back!' I shout and shout, running out after Henry into the street to see the band of men slowly trekking their way through the snow. And I see Dad, his ebony hair standing our against the whiteness of the snow. And my arms are around him, crushed against his side as Mum and Joe and little Emma also join in the hug.

He's back. Daddy's back.

the prompt this time was 'festivities', for christmas! it was my first time writing in first person... and with proper conversation... and actual original characters... so umm... yeah...

#original fiction

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