tainted ink

e i g h t

"Sometimes the best thing you can do is not think, not wonder, not imagine, not obsess. Just breathe, and have faith that everything will work out for the best." -unknown

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l e i g h t o n

He stood with his hands dug deep in his pockets, his dark hair blowing in the frigid wind. It scratches at the vulnerable skin of his cheeks, flooding them with pink and red. The little tree in front of him sways in the wind, it's leaves gone, a ghost of its former self.

Pure hollowness fills his heart and stomach as he's faced with it. His face is blank, lips set in a firm line and shifting to purple by the passing moments, eyes stone cold and staring ahead.

Packed dirt blankets the stone from all sides, sending even more pain shivering through him. A feeling of loneliness withers his strength to nothing. His legs can barely hold him, weak as twigs.

Leighton feels a tear trickle down his cheek, washing away some of the dirt from his face. He doesn't wipe it away.

Dark clouds barricade the sun, no warmth entering his bones. A shiver runs up his spine as his hands detach from his jacket pockets. They fall to his sides and vibrate in the chilling air, but that's just an excuse.

He falls to his knees and sits in front of the grave. Smoothing out the dirt with his fingers, he fights back the sorrow-filled liquid threatening to boil over. He must be strong. He has to be. For Lewis, the only person who matters anymore.

q u i n n

Wind whips her hair from her shoulders as it dances in it's grasp. She doesn't stop, just presses on with determination in her stride. Her shoulder's fight against the growing wind laced with vivid leaves, some stained with crimson.

Her bag bounces against her hip as she walks, a reassuring feeling setting her slightly at ease. Though, her nose is the color of wine, raw in the chill of late autumn.

The pedestrian light flashes green just as her boot hits the pavement beyond the sidewalk, but she doesn't notice. Eyes locked ahead, she barrels down the street against the cold. Her tiny knees become vulnerable to the weather, the bottom of her coat catching the wind. It doesn't slow her down, but the breaths of mother nature slip through the tiny holes in her tights and bite at her legs.

Boots clacking against the road, she turns down another street and hustles to pry open the door, slipping inside.

A pillow of warmth hugs her frozen body as she wraps her arms around her and squeezes with her knitted gloves. Light drapes over her from the bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

This is her favorite place next to the park, being near and dear to her heart. Her father used to take her here when she was little, and she never stopped coming.

The lady thumbing through papers at the mahogany counter looks up with a start and grins brightly at the girl in the doorway. She plucks the glasses from the tip of her nose and comes out from behind her desk to pull Quinn into a tight hug.

"You've been making yourself scarce! I thought something happened to you, dear," Mary worries, examining the girl at length with her hands on Quinn's shoulders as if she hasn't seen her in ages. Though, sadly, she hasn't.

"I know, sorry. Schoolwork." Mary drops her arms and gives Quinn a questioning look, folding her arms across her chest and crinkling her yellowing apron into tiny little creases. She doesn't believe a word of her excuse, but doesn't press for more.

"Alrighty then. I have a stack of books for you, just let me go grab em'!" Mary declares with a grin at the girl, fluttering off in search of the pile.