O, Anna Sun.
finn.
The air is stuffy and hot and heavy. Heavy with words that we don’t want to say because we don’t want any of it to be real. Heavy with feelings that I’m not quite sure either of us understand. It presses and constricts, and I want to say so many things, but the words that I know are there fail me, and I’m stuck, stuck there, stuck watching, stuck feeling, just stuck, period. It’s raining outside and it’s damp, and you’d think it’d be cooler in here because the window is about as open as it’ll ever be, but no. It’s really, really warm and hot and I can’t think straight because of what she’s just said and because it’s just so warm.
It smells like her. Everything in this room does, but it’s faint and subtle and it only creeps up when you least expect it to, like now. And even though she’s not gone, no, not yet, it makes me miss her already. She smells like sunshine, like flowers and berries and those sweet things that she happens to like. It’s singular. It’s not like Alice, who kind of smells like linen, or like little Olive, who smells like the perfume that Alice wears when she goes out that guy who makes the malt shakes at the drugstore. It’s just something else that makes her who she is, I suppose. She’s looking, staring, waiting and I can’t do this but I mean, let’s face it, life isn’t fair and I should have expected something like this to happen.
The problem is that I didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“Stay.”
“Finn, I just—”
“Anna, please.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“So you’re just gonna leave and throw this all away?”
“It’s not like I want this. You know that, right? Right, Finn? You know that—that I…I—”
“Anna—”
“I’ll miss you.” She stands up with that kind of quiet unintended regality that she possessed, eyes cast down as her hands move, trembling, smoothing out the wrinkles in the cream fabric. She shakes and her body heaves as she begins to weep, wrapping her arms around her midsection as if to keep from splitting apart at the seams. The sounds outside pale in comparison to the ones inside, to the ones coming from her frail frame. She hiccups and struggles to breathe and it’s like a reflex, I’m holding her and she turns around and sobs into my shirt, whimpering and sighing. She’s shaking like a leaf and I don’t know what to do but hold her so I do because when Anna cries, there really isn’t anything else you can do but wait it out.
It only takes a few minutes of back rubbing and consoling murmurs to get her to relax, and before I knew it, she was just breathing shakily.
“Can’t we talk about this? Let’s be reasonable—”
“Finn, please!” she exclaims, something that is just so unlike her. She doesn’t really yell or scream or even get mad often, which is why I’m a little surprised whenever she actually shows anything like that. She’s usually reserved and shy, all quiet innocence and smiles, except for that time where she and Athena had that fight (which I still think was Athena’s fault) a while back.
“But—”
“Stop. Please?”
“I—”
“Just—just—you’re making this so much harder than it has to be,” she cried, pulling away, blinking her eyes quickly. “I-I—just—I must leave.”
“Anna, I—”
“Goodbye, Finn.” She turned around and stood there, taking deep breaths.
“Wait, I just—” I stopped short, watching her as she started making her way towards the stairs, trying to figure out what I could stay to make her stay. I felt lost and confused, because when she first came here things were easy and simple and we just were but now we just aren’t, aren’t anything, are just two separate entities instead of two halves of a greater whole. It’s strange how that happens, how people just become parts of you without your becoming aware of it until they actually leave and you feel this aching gnawing longing and sadness and like someone’s just socked you in the gut and you can’t manage to catch your breath.
“I love you.” She stopped in the middle of the staircase and hiccupped again and before I knew it, she was off, running down the stairs and slamming the already broken screen door shut downstairs.
It all just happened so fast.
It smells like her. Everything in this room does, but it’s faint and subtle and it only creeps up when you least expect it to, like now. And even though she’s not gone, no, not yet, it makes me miss her already. She smells like sunshine, like flowers and berries and those sweet things that she happens to like. It’s singular. It’s not like Alice, who kind of smells like linen, or like little Olive, who smells like the perfume that Alice wears when she goes out that guy who makes the malt shakes at the drugstore. It’s just something else that makes her who she is, I suppose. She’s looking, staring, waiting and I can’t do this but I mean, let’s face it, life isn’t fair and I should have expected something like this to happen.
The problem is that I didn’t.
“I’m sorry, I just—”
“Stay.”
“Finn, I just—”
“Anna, please.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“So you’re just gonna leave and throw this all away?”
“It’s not like I want this. You know that, right? Right, Finn? You know that—that I…I—”
“Anna—”
“I’ll miss you.” She stands up with that kind of quiet unintended regality that she possessed, eyes cast down as her hands move, trembling, smoothing out the wrinkles in the cream fabric. She shakes and her body heaves as she begins to weep, wrapping her arms around her midsection as if to keep from splitting apart at the seams. The sounds outside pale in comparison to the ones inside, to the ones coming from her frail frame. She hiccups and struggles to breathe and it’s like a reflex, I’m holding her and she turns around and sobs into my shirt, whimpering and sighing. She’s shaking like a leaf and I don’t know what to do but hold her so I do because when Anna cries, there really isn’t anything else you can do but wait it out.
It only takes a few minutes of back rubbing and consoling murmurs to get her to relax, and before I knew it, she was just breathing shakily.
“Can’t we talk about this? Let’s be reasonable—”
“Finn, please!” she exclaims, something that is just so unlike her. She doesn’t really yell or scream or even get mad often, which is why I’m a little surprised whenever she actually shows anything like that. She’s usually reserved and shy, all quiet innocence and smiles, except for that time where she and Athena had that fight (which I still think was Athena’s fault) a while back.
“But—”
“Stop. Please?”
“I—”
“Just—just—you’re making this so much harder than it has to be,” she cried, pulling away, blinking her eyes quickly. “I-I—just—I must leave.”
“Anna, I—”
“Goodbye, Finn.” She turned around and stood there, taking deep breaths.
“Wait, I just—” I stopped short, watching her as she started making her way towards the stairs, trying to figure out what I could stay to make her stay. I felt lost and confused, because when she first came here things were easy and simple and we just were but now we just aren’t, aren’t anything, are just two separate entities instead of two halves of a greater whole. It’s strange how that happens, how people just become parts of you without your becoming aware of it until they actually leave and you feel this aching gnawing longing and sadness and like someone’s just socked you in the gut and you can’t manage to catch your breath.
“I love you.” She stopped in the middle of the staircase and hiccupped again and before I knew it, she was off, running down the stairs and slamming the already broken screen door shut downstairs.
It all just happened so fast.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hi everyone.
This is a prologue.
SILENT READING IS HIGHLY DISCOURAGED.
-florence welch;
This is a prologue.
SILENT READING IS HIGHLY DISCOURAGED.
-florence welch;