Marigold

Marigold - A Short Romantic Drama

"You a marine, man?" the figure in the doorway asked him.

Startled, his hand went reflexively to the back of his neck. There was a tattoo there. How could he have forgotten? Semper Fi, the words floated to him borne on a wind of surprise. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak, how to form words. The sounds that came from his mouth were rough, scratchy, and formless.

"Christ, how long you been in here?" the man had relaxed his stance a bit, looking at him curiously.

"What... year?" he creaked out.

"It is April the fifteenth, 2016."

His breath left him in a rush, and he stood there deflated for a long moment before he responded.

"Seven..... years. Sir," He added out of respect.

Amber eyes lit upon him from the doorway, standing next to the man. She scrutinized him, neither shocked nor surprised to find him now free. Just stared. His mind must be completely addled from his long imprisonment if she was appearing to him now at the time of his rescue. And rescue it must be, he realized, as the man before him bore the same tattoo as he on his right forearm.

"I think he's in shock, Colonel."

"It seems so," she replied.

She had replied.

He didn't realize he had dropped to his knees until he found himself searching upward for her face. She gazed down at him for a moment, head cocked to the side, silently witnessing his bewilderment.

"You can go, Larry. I'll take it from here." Her voice was strong and clear and left no room for argument.

"Yes, Colonel." The man named Larry disappeared from view of the doorway. Leaving him alone with..... Her.

She waited while he gathered his wits, watching as a doctor would watch a patient waking from anesthesia. Seeing she did not mean to rush him, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He brought forth her image, his lady, and sketched her over and over in his head. Front and back, top to bottom. Recreating her as he had for so many years, until she lived apart from his mind. Opening his eyes, he saw that indeed she did live.

How?

She reached a hand forward to help him stand. He gasped as a white hot current shot up his arm from the contact of their hands. Unable to let go, and yet unable to stand, he let the heat run its course up his arm and straight up the back of his neck, flooding the back of his skull with soothing warmth. Looking up at her, he realized she knew exactly what had just happened. She was searching his face, waiting for him to show signs of his shock passing off.

"I.... you..." words wouldn't form sentences for him. Years spent with no conversation had degraded him to a single worded brute, and he struggled once more to piece his mind together.

"Yes, me. And you," she said softly, somehow knowing exactly what to say. Even if it was only a couple of words.

She tugged lightly on his arm, urging him to stand. Once again on his feet, he stood over her by several inches. But he still felt small compared to her. She radiated a power that washed over him in waves, at once threatening to knock him flat, yet keeping him upright. Those eyes bore into him, deep into his soul, latching on to his inner identity, and drew it forth. And then he remembered who he was, how he had come into this cell, and that he was angry about it. Her gaze held him as the memories flooded in, keeping him still while the rage, anger, desperation, seclusion and complete anguish threatened to drown him.

He had no idea how much time had gone by, the two of them just standing there, gazes locked. As the last of the memories slipped away to the back of his mind, she smiled and held out her hand once more. This time in greeting.