Missing

Missing

 

Imagine one boy and one girl trapped in an ongoing love circle. And I know what you are saying, don't you mean triangle but no.

 

Visualise this. A girl with hair that flows freely, like the colour of golden autumn leaves just after they have fallen off the trees. No matter how she wears it, it always looks perfect. Skin that looks as if it has been sculpted by angels it fits so perfectly. A complexion any hormonal teenager would die for, not a blemish or a mark in sight. Her eyes the colour of topaz gems with their own special sparkle that hides a secret. The cute little freckles and dimples that accentuate her inner child and the innocence she so clearly lost a long time ago. For below her chin lies a woman's figure detailed with curves and undulations any man would be oh to happy to gander upon. For she is not a child, she is 24 and alone. You may ask why, this description of a girl so lucky with looks that only a personality with a heart of stone and the emotional capacity of a radiator could destroy. Because that is complete nonsense.

People often mistake being over emotional with having no emotions at all. They believe that just because someone is socially awkward it means they do not like you or feel hurt in your company. It takes a special person to understand that just saying come join me isn't invitation enough. Unfortunately our woman, our woman has a past. Everyone does but her past is full of disappointment, death and demise. When only a girl her parents were divorced then died, you would think tragic enough to loose a family through choice but not by accident. She began her decent into darkness facing the prospect of self harm and abandonment of soul, contemplating suicide and planning illusions to hide her distress. Until at the age of only 18 she discovered companionship.

I say only 18 as if that is such a small age as when you think of the time she still has to live 18 is still childhood. She is an adult but only by law. Not in body or soul or heart. Companionship can mean many things. To one it may be a simple hug from a loved one but to Collete it was as if she had been reborn.

A boy that looked like a man. Dressed all in green from head to toe. An army suit, hat and boots completing the ensemble. He could not have been much older than 23 at the time as hair sprung from his face in sharp strands shaping his face and highlighting his lips. His hair protruding from underneath the folds of his hat was a dark chocolate brunette, silky in look but soft by touch. From a distance his eyes seemed inviting and full of stories that Collete wished to hear. A calm in his eyes that could only be earnt through the realisation and terror of war. He limps forward one leg straight from the knee the other bending and struggling under his weight. A flash of silver bounces into Collete's eyes off the ankle of the solider, a metal fixture hidden under the uniform of heroes...

To be continued...