Deep Fall

Calling A Stranger

Her eyes were red and green and the path was blurry, her black mascara was dripping down her soft pale skin and her fingers were white and frozen. Inhaling with a hand on her chest, as if every breath was being stolen from her, she collapsed and her motionless body bided miserably in the snow for only a few minutes, until she heard a scream. "Jackson?" The beautiful woman stood up and kept calling a stranger and her eyes were quickly dancing around, looking into the horizon.
"Where are you?" Her voice was shaking, she was unsteady on her small feet and her luxurious red lips were trembling. She began to walk and it wasn't long before she decided to run, crying his name, over and over again, but his name was all she knew about him. That and his ungentle touch, and the way he spoke, and his deep brown eyes. Right as she wiped her cheeks, she saw a faintly drawn dark figure in the distance, desperately trying to escape the tree branches that were grasping its clothes.
Her face filled with passion and she forgot the physical pain she was in. The only thing that mattered then was him. The only thing that matters now is him.

"Get away from me, you fucking psychopath!" The man was barely able to stand, but she was ready to dance. "Don't run away from me! Look! This is such a romantic place." She let out a charming giggle and twirled ever so elegantly, hyptonizing her beloved with the spinning lace rims of her silk dress.

A frozen drop of water hit the tip of Jackson's nose and his heartbeat fastened. His thoughts cleared as he realized the danger he was in; this girl was sick and there was nothing that could save her. He could only save himself. He slowly began pulling out his phone from the back pocket of his dark grey jeans, but his amant noticed the blue light shining in between his fingers. "What are you doing, Jacky?" She asked, tilting her head and fluttering her eyelashes, looking angelic.
His stare shifted from her eyes, to her lips, to her short ebony curls. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and stepped closer, breathing in her fading smile, exhaling warm anxiety onto her visage.
She never could have guessed that he was about to faint, she never could have guessed that he wanted to keep running, she never would have guessed that he was playing with her emotions, but he never would have guessed that she knew what he was doing all along. Drop. His heart dropped right when she kissed him. She proved him wrong. "What kind of idiot would I be if I lost at my own game?" she smiled, her nose being a millimetre away from his and every single detail was meticulously thought of; he was craving more. The art of manipulation was invented when men proved how easily fooled they are. Suffice it to hand them a woman (the objectification of which thus seems much more degrading to silly, idiotic men), or rather her body, and they will turn into slaves. 

It was as if he was a worthless piece of metal and her lips were a shining, golden magnet.
Click.
That was the sound of an empty gunshot and he had already turned around, wiping the ruby colored lipstick from his face. "Run." Isabella whispered. He took her by the hand and obeyed.
"Hey! Come back here!" a male voice shouted, followed by barks and angry footsteps in the snow. "Is that a police officer?" Jackson asked, out of breath. "Just keep running." she said in a crisply cold tone. "What if he shoots?" he could barely speak. Then, he felt her fingers slip out of his and she pushed him onto the ground with all of her strenght.
Bang.
That was the sound of a fired revolver, and the bullet had hit the target.