The Runaway

The Runaway 1

She stood at the edge of her world. She looked outside the window. A bright sun had risen high in the sky, and late summer had a grip on the air. Contagious beauty radiated from the full blossoms of flowers planted beneath the trees, and the emerald leaves stretched towards the sun.
They just reach in vain, because they can never have the sun…
She looked down at her gown. Intricate lace, delicate as a baby’s slumbering sigh, adorned her dress. A generous amount of cleavage sparked from the top of the corset-like top, revealing her gentle curves that could be both startling and alluring. Sparkling sequins and light beading touched the bodice, plummeting to a tapering point where the skirt of the dress started. The gown ended just below her ankles, semi-full with tulle and just a touch of satin. The strapless dress fit snugly, and moved with her. It was made of fine fabric and dewy dreams that were now tainted with dark smudges.
The flowers bloom just to die. Just to become ghosts of beauty, forever marred with their memory of once being exquisite.
Bells chimed in time with the breeze. The open window let in a delicious scent of herbs and florets wafted through the room, mixed with the fresh air. White lilies sat outside the window, caught in the height of their efflorescence. To one side of the room, there was a sleigh bed with crimson silk sheets and a buttery down comforter. Beside it was a wooden nightstand. On the other side, there was a dressing table with a high mirror and a backless seat.
In her porcelain hands she held a silver locket, in the shape of a heart. She turned it over and over with her fingertips, her nails adorned with an expensive French manicure. No rings on her delicate fingers, no bracelets clasping her thin wrists or necklaces encircling her neck. The locket was to be suspended on a simple glimmering chain, and she watched as it fell to the floor with a quiet whisper, slipping through the tiny barrel of the locket.
With a surprising amount of strength, she then threw the locket to the polished wooden floor below her feet. It sprung open and danced across the floor, landing near the bed. Then, with all the speed of a panther, sly and sinuous, she ran out the door of the room. She sprinted through the elegant halls bounded down the wide staircase. She threw the door open and darted through it. The grand oak door stood ajar behind her, hitting the side of the house with a thud and bouncing a little.
She ran barefoot on the pristine looking cement walkway that had just been poured that summer. Only a few houses spotted the land around her. Amazed, people dressed in fashionable and resplendent clothing watched her, wide-eyed. A few called after her, and one screamed her name into the breeze. He stood and watched her spotless white dress flow behind her as she ran. His hands were slack at his side, lightly tanned against his black tuxedo and white undershirt. His face, with all the beauty of a Greek statue, was blank, with his crystal blue eyes wide and unbelieving.
Her raven tresses twisted into her face. With a shake of her head, she threw them out of her vision. Her dark eyes looked no where but ahead.
No…more…lies. Everything fake is dead. Everything dead is me.
Her breathing came in great gasps. Her only focus was ahead. Her only thoughts were streaming away, leaving her blissfully numb for now.
Cars were gathering behind her, letting out more people. A priest stood by the young man in the tuxedo, wearing a questioning look on his aged face. He called out tentatively to her, but she made no sign she heard.
Two young children, a boy and a girl, stood side by side. The little girl held a silver basket of flower petals, freshly plucked, in her hands. The little boy held onto a pillow in the shape of a heart. The girl wore ribbons in her hair and a lavender dress that ended about halfway down her leg. The boy wore a tuxedo similar to the man standing near him. The two children gazed after her.
A few young women in silky lavender dresses held onto bouquets of fresh flowers. One of them threw their bouquet down against the pavement. Another shrieked, another cried. One just stood there, seemingly dumbfounded. The last one watched, an amused smirk snaking it’s way upon her face. Her hands slithered onto the young man’s shoulders, and she whispered in his ear.
“I guess she found out our secret,” she told him, her words low and seductive.
She kept running, and the noises of the people started to fade. The dull ache in her heart seemed to let up a little. Her worries subsided, and she embraced the here and now. She had forgotten future.
Against the horizon, the girl ran until she reached the forest that edged the new and ornately furnished homes. Then she could be seen no more. Only a specter of a memory was left of her white dress trailing behind her, as if she was the wind, her hair the sky.
She leaned against a tall, cool tree. The bark was rough and dark, and her fingertips played with the random patterns. She heard the trickling of water and turned toward it, this time walking, taking pleasure in her slow strides. When she got to the river, the water wide across and clear and cool, she stepped into it and closed her eyes.
Beside the bed lay the locket, with a picture of the girl and the young man inside, one on each side. Both smiled. The locket had been opened with the force of it being thrown to the floor, revealing its contents and secrets.
The locket had broken in two, the pictures separated forever.
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