Fallen From Grace (#Wattys2017)

Epilogue

Our new story, much like most stories, goes like this:

It was a sunlit day of late spring, and the sky held a soft blue glow. You could tell it was spring because of seeing the green grass with specks of color from flowers like lavenders, roses, or asters. You could tell it was spring because the white coat of snow had melted from the sunlight. And you could tell it was spring because the trees had resurrected, and were standing tall with bright green leaves resting on the branches.

The flower that had been a tight bud only days ago had begun to open, already had a deeper blush of pink. The winter should still be in force but already spring had pushed it back to moderate temperatures and the kind of gentle breeze you don't notice unless you stop and be present in the moment. The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending a dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three. Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats me as good as caramel over a harvest apple.

A woman no more than 22 lay on the lush grass, seemingly napping. She opened her eyes and let the daylight flood back in, bringing the late April day right back into focus. Then she sat up cross legged on the weed filled lawn and looked for the flowers she loved just as much as the roses her grandfather tended with such loving care. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the beauty of a rose, it was that she was equally in love with meadow flowers, with forget-me-nots and buttercups. But being a baby linguist she played with words like they were dolls and tea cups.

Her watch says it is near noon and she recalled laying down here at ten, yet somehow her memory of the time is no more than ten minutes, twenty at the most. With a long exhale she is able to detect the tell tale signs that her brain is still waking from a nap, there are the vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. Then from nowhere comes the memory of where she was supposed to be by this time and before the dream can reassert itself her feet are taking her down the knoll to the path below.

Rushing about, her yellow sundress whipped around her as she lugged her handbag on her shoulder, hurriedly making her way over to their spot she promised to meet him. She squeezed her way past the loitering pedestrians and muttered an apology when she bumped into one of them a bit too harshly. Glancing down at her watch once more, she cursed under her breath as she realised she was running late.

Pushing herself, she ran across the pavement and turned to see the bridge awaiting a few feet away. And on top of that bridge stood the man she was here for. Slowing down, she calmed her breathing and pushed her blonde hair behind her ear before straightening her dress. Putting on a big smile. She walked forwards and climbed onto the bridge catching his gaze as he quickly averted it for some reason.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." She apologised as she reached him, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before standing beside him on the bridge, looking down at the clear water of the lake below. "So what did you want to say that you wouldn't tell me on the phone?" She inquired with a soft smile.

"Listen..." He trailed uncomfortably as he rubbed a hand over his nape. "I-I...I think we should start seeing other people."

Her heart stuttered in her chest as her mouth fell slightly open. "What?"

"I think we should break up."

"Why?" She spoke in a choked whisper as her heart hurt, but she refused the tears to fall.

"It's not you! Believe me it's not your fault!" He exclaimed as he grasped her shoulders, but she pushed him away from her, anger marring her delicate features. "It's me. It's because of me that I'm breaking up with you. I've held you back too many times...it's not healthy for us to be together anymore...I hope you understand." Sniffling, she turned her face away in order to blink away the tears before taking a calming breath and turning back around with a soft and understanding smile.