The Leaves Were Falling

tw//d3ath, implied $uicid3, bl00d

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The leaves were falling.

The sound of footsteps could be heard throughout the forest, the slight crunch of the dried leaves littered across the grass almost yelling in it's volume. The long faded sound of laughter seemingly echoing through the trees as the footsteps sprinted past, chasing the last remnants of a Summer that had passed.

The steps slowed to a halt at the base of a tree, his head tilting to look up at the aged house still nestled in it's branches. He ran a hand across the splintered wood of the ladder, the previous hastiness forgotten as he traced the grooves left in the wood. He closed his hand around one of the planks, hoisting himself up the ladder towards the trap door.

The boards creaked under his feet as he stood facing the window with a sheet hanging off it, turning to look around the small abode. His eyes widened, memories of days spent in the forest forgotten as he looked at the red staining the floor, seeping into the worn rug.

And there was red, and red and red and red and red. As fast as time moved while he sprinted through the forest, it did nothing but slow to a stop as his eyes met the empty ones on the floor.

He felt his legs give out, falling onto the floor just to be met with more red seeping into his jeans, staining the skin of his knees, feeling the sting of bile rising in his throat as the coppery smell became more and more prominent.

A gust of wind blew through the window, on it rode a leaf as red as his hair. It drifted down to the out-stretched hand bathed in the red. He lifted a shaky hand, covering the leaf with his palm and tried not to pull back at the coldness of the others' fingertips.

He doubled over, his grip on the hand (cold, cold, cold dead hand) tightening as sobs tore their way out of his throat. Whispering "John" over and over, as though it was the only word left in the world. He curled his free hand on John's chest, clutching desperately at the fabric as though it would help bring him back.

* * *

The Sun shone, the Sun laughed, the Sun danced. It's bright rays pierced through the overhead greenery, coming in through the window highlighting the reds and yellows of the leaves hanging from the branches, highlighting the red that marred the floor.

The Sun didn't despair. Choosing to relish in the tortured whispers uttered into a cold chest, mocking the sobs that fell from a ragged throat.

The leaves danced in the wind, celebrating the light gone from clear blue eyes. The birds rejoiced, singing a tune to which the trees swayed to, much too joyus of a song to be sung above the cold body laid on the floor.

The water of the stream ran past, a game of chase that never ends finally slowing, allowing him to keep up. But, it was nothing more than a game of chase that doesn't have any purpose of being played, not anymore. Not without John there to splash him, not without John there to run with him, not without John.

The stream was slower, today.

The stream mourned.

* * *

The last of the leaves were falling.

The breeze carrying them on it's back, drifting towards the stone that he stood over, gaze locked on the bright picture that leaned against the overturned Earth. Dead flowers surrounded the stone, it had been long since anyone had come to visit.

He laid the letter down in front of the picture, eyes attempting to avoid the frame yet strained to look at it. John had his arms wrapped around his waist, both had bright smiles that seemed so real. John's wasn't real, though, was it? There was a leaf in his hair, the yellow standing out among the red.

John loved red, John loved to play with his hair, John loved to hold him, but if John loved him why didn't he stay? Why did he leave him all alone? Why why why why why why?

John didn't love him.

No.

John loved him.

No.

He didn't know, he didn't seem to know anything, anymore.

He took a breath, pushing himself up and away from the grave. He turned to leave, a red leaf landing on the top the stone, he swallowed, eyes beginning to sting as he walked away, hand scrubbing at his eyes.

The leaves were falling when John left.

They would fall when he left, too.