He felt the silence wrap around him. It was uncomfortable, he felt sick and he wanted to speak up, but the words remained trapped in his throat. It was as though something was forcing them back down, telling him to keep quiet because now was not the time to speak.
It was dark. The grass was cold and wet from the previous rainfall. The trees shadowed over the moon and it was difficult to say whether the crickets chirping was all in his head as a way to deal with the quiet, or were they really there. He faced forward, frozen in place and listening to the beating of his heart pounding loudly in his head. His mouth opened again to say something, but the silence forced it back down. Beside him he could feel the warm presence, but somehow it felt cold as well. Glancing from the corner of his eye he could see the figure bent forward, their head resting against their knees and eyes focused on the grass.
"I'm sorry." Finally. Finally the words could come out and he could speak. If he still feared movement he probably would have flinched after speaking, but there was no response. "Are you mad at me?" More silence and it was worse now that he had asked a question.
The pair sat in silence for a long time, until finally the other spoke up. He had not moved from his position, his face still facing downward and his voice now muffled as he adjusted his arms. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"You did what you had to do."
Silence again. He wasn't sure what to say. He swallowed hard, his heart still pounding in his ears as he stretched out his legs, finally making some sort of movement. "Really?"
"Yes."
He could tell the other was lying. He could hear it in his voice. It was broken and sad with a hint of anger. He wasn't sure if he should mention that, or go along with what was being said. He turned away from the curled up figure and stared forward again. He was angry. He could tell. It scared him that he was so silent about it. He shifted again, glancing down at his hands, bruised and bloodied. Battle scars. He clenched his fingers into fists before relaxing them again.
"Do you hate me?" he asked, still staring at his fingers.
More silence. This time the crickets stopped chirping. There was not much of a sound other than the soft wind blowing the cool night air.
Suddenly the figure beside him moved, launching himself at him and he was pinned to the grass, his eyes focused on the beady one's in front of his face. He could feel the other's hot breath against his skin and then his fingers digging into his shoulders, pushing him further into the ground. When he showed no signs of fighting back, the figure moved his hands to his throat, a gentle hold on it at first, then his fingers tightened.
His breathing became more ragged and sharp. He had to force himself to take deep breaths just to stay conscious. The fingers dug into his neck and he could see his vision go black, fading slowly before he could breathe again. The fingers removed themselves from his neck and he blinked a few times. Something wet had hit his face and then the weight on his chest was gone.
Now he could breathe normally. His fingers ran across his neck as he slowly sat up. His shoulders dropped and his eyes closed. Another drop of water fell.
His eyes flickered up to the sky, blocked by trees and dark clouds that slowly rolled in. "I'm sorry," he said once more to no one in particular. The figure beside him was gone and he was left alone, sitting in the wet grass as a fresh fall of rain began to steadily hit the ground.
It was dark. The grass was cold and wet from the previous rainfall. The trees shadowed over the moon and it was difficult to say whether the crickets chirping was all in his head as a way to deal with the quiet, or were they really there. He faced forward, frozen in place and listening to the beating of his heart pounding loudly in his head. His mouth opened again to say something, but the silence forced it back down. Beside him he could feel the warm presence, but somehow it felt cold as well. Glancing from the corner of his eye he could see the figure bent forward, their head resting against their knees and eyes focused on the grass.
"I'm sorry." Finally. Finally the words could come out and he could speak. If he still feared movement he probably would have flinched after speaking, but there was no response. "Are you mad at me?" More silence and it was worse now that he had asked a question.
The pair sat in silence for a long time, until finally the other spoke up. He had not moved from his position, his face still facing downward and his voice now muffled as he adjusted his arms. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"You did what you had to do."
Silence again. He wasn't sure what to say. He swallowed hard, his heart still pounding in his ears as he stretched out his legs, finally making some sort of movement. "Really?"
"Yes."
He could tell the other was lying. He could hear it in his voice. It was broken and sad with a hint of anger. He wasn't sure if he should mention that, or go along with what was being said. He turned away from the curled up figure and stared forward again. He was angry. He could tell. It scared him that he was so silent about it. He shifted again, glancing down at his hands, bruised and bloodied. Battle scars. He clenched his fingers into fists before relaxing them again.
"Do you hate me?" he asked, still staring at his fingers.
More silence. This time the crickets stopped chirping. There was not much of a sound other than the soft wind blowing the cool night air.
Suddenly the figure beside him moved, launching himself at him and he was pinned to the grass, his eyes focused on the beady one's in front of his face. He could feel the other's hot breath against his skin and then his fingers digging into his shoulders, pushing him further into the ground. When he showed no signs of fighting back, the figure moved his hands to his throat, a gentle hold on it at first, then his fingers tightened.
His breathing became more ragged and sharp. He had to force himself to take deep breaths just to stay conscious. The fingers dug into his neck and he could see his vision go black, fading slowly before he could breathe again. The fingers removed themselves from his neck and he blinked a few times. Something wet had hit his face and then the weight on his chest was gone.
Now he could breathe normally. His fingers ran across his neck as he slowly sat up. His shoulders dropped and his eyes closed. Another drop of water fell.
His eyes flickered up to the sky, blocked by trees and dark clouds that slowly rolled in. "I'm sorry," he said once more to no one in particular. The figure beside him was gone and he was left alone, sitting in the wet grass as a fresh fall of rain began to steadily hit the ground.
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