Under the setting sun

Dusk was falling over the city, cushioning it in a soft and sleepy glow. The hot lazy streets were slowly coated in darkness as night descended. The city didn't hush, in fact, it seemed to brighten, and when all that was left of the light was a few streaks of sun on the horizon, it was unrecognisable.

The hot and humid day had faded, and at last the people could emerge from the safety of their shade. Music that seemed almost to have no source began to play, joyfully reaching out through the city, touching every corner, every window, every doorway. Exasperated parents tried desperately to control their excited children, but they still hung from their windows and waved at the people who had started to dance below. They laughed at the clowns – the men with painted faces who juggled and fought playfully with each other, rolling around in the dust.

One boy did not laugh. Dusty and dirty, perched on a rooftop, he watched the celebrations with cold hard eyes. So much happiness, so much fun, but yet he couldn't even crack a smile. Instead, a single tear escaped him, cutting a clean path down his blackened cheek. He thought about wiping it away and pretending that he hadn't let the wretched emotion affect him, but no one could see him. It had happened, despite his best efforts to contain it, but that was that. So he let the tear stay; an emblem of momentary weakness.

Quite suddenly, he leapt away from the edge, whirling around and running in the opposite direction. Lithe and nimble, he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, desperate to be rid of the music and the contagious feeling of joy wafting in the air. He ran until the light was all behind him and all he could see was darkness. The city wall was impressive, but this didn't faze him; he came and went as he pleased. Tonight it was especially easy to scale it, as the officers had left it unguarded and had gone off to join the party. He calmly climbed his tree, swinging onto the wall, daring even to pause and catch his breath before he leapt over it.

The sand, crumbling and silky, was there to catch him. It still held some heat, but nothing like the burning ferocity that it had during the day. He dug his toes into it and his lips trembled, almost as though he was willing more tears to fall. But none did, so he started up again running across the sand.   

You have nothing to say and I have no one to blame

Tears, like tiny spheres of crystal, are falling from your perfect white face. This was never meant to happen. I want to put my hands around your neck, press my mouth to your throat and tell you that everything will be fine - but why lie? I can see it, in the dark dim reflection of those hazel eyes of yours. You're frightened, frightened of me and what's going to happen, frightened of the future ahead. And I'm hurting you, as sure as stabbing a knife between your perfect shoulders and twisting it around and around. The hot blood is spilling over my fingers now, I can see that...but what can be done?

Tell me, what can I do? I put my arm around your tiny waist and drag you closer to me, your warm breath against my cheek. I feel calmer for having done so, but at the same time I feel more terrified than ever. My hands are shaking – I need to leave you alone. This was never meant to happen. You don't belong to me, you never did. I run a tentative hand through your soft brown hair and almost angrily wipe the tears from your face with my trembling fingers. I don't want them to be there, because they are my fault. This was all my fault, don't you see? You blame yourself, but had you never met me, never known me, none of this would have ever happened.

I just never thought I'd care about you. But standing there, leaning against me, your slender arms wrapped around my God forsaken shoulders, you are everything. I care about nothing more in the entire world than just protecting you. You have nothing to say, and I have no one to blame...what a pair we are. Inseparable, but yet we repel each other like pole to pole magnets. I cup your chin and delicately kiss the top of your head; it's now my turn to cry.

Our future, our beautiful future, destroyed by everything, smashed to pieces by our very society. I should leave you now, leave you before we both get killed, but your beauty is like a drug. I have to stay, even just to keep my eyes on your face and know that you were real, and that I didn't just dream you up. You are tense, and your face looks older than it did a week ago. You have aged in this time...this has taken things from you that can never be replaced. And it's all my fault.