Run Away.

Can you do it? Can you really look me in the eyes and say those words, the ones that would break me? Can you, my closest friend, do that to me? Can you take away my only hope, the only thing that kept me fighting for anything any more? Can you?

I'm about to find out.

"He's..." you pause, unsure how to phrase it so that I wouldn't destroy myself, "He's dead."

And with those two words, those two simple, simple words; ones I've heard repeated to many people over this long, bitter war; ones that drill right down into the core of my being, beyond anything I can think of any more, deep into my heart and soul; ones that shatter my fragile heart to shards while I beg for them to stop; those words cause me endless pain that I cannot express. I can't say anything, not by screaming or shouting, nor begging or pleading. I can't even whimper. No sound escapes me. My breathing stops, just as his has done. I can feel the cracks in my soul beginning to tear me apart, that fragile humanity inside me is being turned to dust now that he's gone. I don't know what you see, I don't care either, I'm not here any more. I'm back, a million years ago, in my memories.

His lips, too full for a man to be truly attractive, press against mine softly, his body and mine melded into one, his arms holding me close, my arms around his neck, our hearts in synchronization. His warm body, his minty breath, his stubble coated chin, his scarred hands, his muscled neck... I wanted more. More of him, more of us. I wanted more of this happiness I felt pushed up against him in the middle of the forest.

"I'm sorry."

I nod mutely, dragged out of my last memory with him. I can't find the will to do anything but turn around and walk away from you, away from the base, away from the rebels. I just need to get away from it all, the place that took him away from me. The war that took the only man I'll ever love, I needed it to end. I needed it to stop, now. But not now, not so that there could be a peaceful end. No. I begin to run, letting the thoughts consume my mind. Fire and Ice. Wasn't that the Robert Frost poem he recited to me? Wasn't that the thing that made me fall in love with his voice? The way he read poetry to me, the way he said my name, the way his lips moved when he wanted to tell me something but couldn't find the courage, those where what made me fall in love with his voice.

Suddenly, I am back in my memories. My head is resting in his lap and he's stroking my hair, plaiting small sections of it and brushing it out with his fingers, I'm dozing in the midsummer sun, almost purring with happiness.
"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those that favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."
"What's that?"
"Robert Frost's 'Fire and Ice'."
"Beautiful." I smile, "Although, I don't want you being destroyed."
"Neither do I." he grins at me, his eyes glinting in the sun, "I want to live with you, forever."

The pain in my chest wells up and threatens to overflow. I fall to my knees, unsure of how far I've run, unseeing. I'm gasping for breath, retching and coughing. Oh god. He was gone. He was really... he was gone. No, it can't be true. It can't be real. My mind was playing tricks on me. This is all just a bad dream and I'll wake up soon. I'll wake up soon. I'll wake up soon.
The words quickly become a chant inside my head, painting all of my thoughts with it's message. It's just a dream, I'll wake up soon. I'll wake up in my bed, with his arms around me, and I'll watch him sleep, I'll notice the way his face looked years younger when he slept, and I'll whisper that I love him. I'll tell him I love him over and over until I haven't a voice to say it with.
"Let this be a dream, or kill me too." I whisper to the clear sky above my head. But no answer comes. I don't wake up, nor do I die. But I do realize what I am; a child and nothing more. Nothing more because this war hasn't given me the chance to be anything more. I am at their mercy.
I'm expecting someone to come and collect me. Someone to come and find me, drag me back to that hell hole where he died. I'm expecting to be dragged back to the base, kicking and screaming. But I don't. No one comes to find me. Maybe they're waiting until I come back myself, unlikely. Or maybe I ran out of their range, much more likely. I doubt they'll find me for a few more hours, so I curl up in a ball with my knees under my chin.
I know that no matter what, I will not cry. I will not let them win. They can use me for their army, use me to give inspiration to their troops, they can use my body but they will never be able to understand my love for the boy that means nothing to them, they will never understand what he meant to me. I will not allow them to use this pain, my pain, against me.
I wait for them to come and find me. I'll let them see me like this, let them know I'm in pain. I'll never forgive them for what they've done to him. They killed him. And I'll hate them for it. I hate them all.