#226

it made him sound decades older than he was, the aching, tired sigh. maybe he is older, she thought. he has lived so much more than his 34 years on this earth. sandpaper hands, crooked shoulders, sloping scars, testaments to a harsh life and Country.
she lay still, eyes closed, as he pulled their shared blanket over his legs, stomach, up to his chest. his arm draped over the covers, around her waist, and rested lightly, still cold from the night air. the chill seeped through the blanket, but she didn't mind. it reminded her of childhood. of coming in from the winter's cold, peeling back layer after layer until the shirts weren't wet from snow, but from sweat. she would squat by the fire, knees up, pressing her nearly frozen nose to the heat of her chest. it was a safe feeling. a reminder of normalcy; that the cold wouldn't reach her there by the stove, here in her sleep.
briefly, her mind played with the question of whether he ever felt young again, or if he could isolate any happy memory from the all the rest.

#225

a light shone out from the house. this one bluer, more piercing than the glow illuminating the windowsills, the green checkered curtains her mother made from the leftover bolts of fabric cluttering the spare room.
as she turned, the sharpness of the light found her eyes, stinging for a moment, a far too rapid transition.
for a moment it made her feel hazy, concussed, floaty. stifling the little bit of clarity that might allow flight AND fight. it struck through her thoughts of the talking head's public service announcement. his polished hair and calm tone nothing close to the severity of the teleprompter's words.
whoever was holding the flashlight didn't bother to call her name. the figure just moved noiselessly forward, swinging the light side to side. not that she would answer anyway.
she wanted the safety blanket of night, the quiet, the solitude. she wanted to stay lost for just a little longer, that was all.