Love Stories ~ shorts :)

Time

Time will bring you many things, whether that be benefits or misfortunes. Time will slip out of your grasp and fly away. Then, in other instances, it will also make the world seem as if the universe has stopped functioning, slowing down so quickly it makes you feel ill.

Though I have gotten used to it. Time stopping, I mean. Because every time I look at my husband of 77 years, the clock never fails to stop in its tracks.

With time, I learnt a lot of things about love. When I was a young lass, I was new to love. It was a dream: when your breath hitches and your heart skips a beat or two, when you would throw yourself into any situation if it meant your love could be proven. But my young mind had no idea of the prices to be paid.

I met Theo when I was 10. He was a year older than me, with sweet brown eyes and curly locks of strawberry-blonde. His voice was husky and mysterious; that I will always remember.

There was never a rough moment between us; it was always spent talking and listening, teaching and learning. We would run around the streets of Marseille, spreading our arms and soaring like birds in the cloudy skies.

If only freedom was that easy.

Years passed, and the sky we so longed to be in turned grey and stormy, filled with warplanes and bombs. Food vanished from our dinner plates, and it was a race against time to purchase rations. In that, we couldn't find the time to see each other anymore. France was no longer safe.

I was 15 when I found out that Theo's mother was of Jewish heritage. One frightful day in January, I woke to the sounds of people moaning and screaming, the thunderous scuffle of tired feet on the cobblestones.

Mama threw open the door, watching hundreds - maybe thousands - walk along the streets, being herded like animals into carts and trucks. Children were wailing alone on the streets, people being struck down by men in pressed uniforms.

I watched in horror as I saw a familiar face appear among the crowd. In 1944, Theo's face had lost its childish features and plumpness, now sharp with maturity and starvation. His hair hung in sickly curls, eyes darting around as he clung to his young sister, Sylvie.

An overwhelming sensation stirred in the pits of my stomach, my mind and legs. That same feeling propelled my feet away from the safety of home, and made me rush to the one man that stood out in the crowd.

I called his name as I barged through the crowd toward him. At first, he didn't hear. Then, as I pulled short beside him, he turned, his eyes sparkling and his colourless lips parted. Behind me, I heard Mama calling out to me, as well as an angry sounding whistle, but I didn't care. I couldn't care.

"Elodie?" He whispered in disbelief. I realised how different I looked: I had developed a full chest, hips now shapely under my dress. My hair had grown longer, and in a darker shade of brown.

I couldn't hold back any longer. I pulled him close in a warm, familiar embrace I could barely recall. In the terror of everything, it was a nice remembrance of the naive life I once had. We pull away, and I pant, "Where are you going?"

"I-I don't know," He says, looking around worriedly. Sylvie was still behind him, holding onto a fabric of a faded white shirt. He looks me straight in the eyes. "Mama said its because of who she is."

My breath catches as he takes something out of his pocket. It is an old pocket watch; the one always used to use to time how long it took him to run across the cornfields. I laugh at the memory.

I begin to wonder why I have not been taken away yet, but I don't stop to think about it.

He looks at me, surprised. "You remember?"