Event Horizon

The reflection of the brilliantly colored impossibility that drew ever closer overhead, danced vividly in the drops of Rose’s tear-filled eyes. Her breath was strained, distant – and only interrupted by the occasional shaky, spirit-crushed sob. The girl couldn’t help but compare the event in front of her to watching a skimmer-crash, and couldn’t summon the strength to peel her eyes from the scene, but the carnage was far from over. Her scraped knees congealed the holes in her light gray track suit to her damaged skin, mending itself with her body in a horrible cyborg-esque manner. Truth be told, Rose didn’t even have the energy left to notice the blood trickling down her knees, watering the parched dirt under her frail body. The crimson grass blades swayed indifferently with the encouragement of a limp wind, licking her exhausted body.

An uneven breath choired faintly with that of her own, and grounded the clambering in her mind for but a moment. Rose made an effort to turn her head in the direction of the labored sound, as her head lagged like the movements of a weary robin, her pearl blue shimmering eyes rested on the figure of what would be her final love.

The sorry soul couldn’t lift his glazed eyes from the bloody scene at the girl’s feet, like he could tell the unfolding of what was to come from the shed crimson. A cold clarity washed down the man’s back, interrupting his trance and hastened him to Rose’s side. Her weightless body clung against his chiseled frame and the familiar warmth she so desperately had sought after, warmed her up to force out a series of muffled sobs.

Neither of them spoke, for they were far too exhausted, and what was there to say? He wrapped the sinking girl gently with strong arms and propped her against his side.

Had the kaleidoscope tumbled closer? It was impossible to tell, the colors violently exploded and shimmered with a hungry eagerness.

Rose hissed faintly when the adrenaline coating her veins had run its course. Goosebumps protruded her fair skin in a meager defense for what was to come, and her delicate build started shaking to warm her up from the sudden cold sensation.

Finally, Rose mustered to ask, no louder than the wind that beat the grass into submission:

“Do you think it will hurt?”.

The only response she received was the weight of a head deciding its final resting place would be a young girl’s shoulder.