Nothing. He felt nothing. He heard nothing. It was as though he didn't exist. As if, from the moment the glass had shattered about their bodies, everything had ceased to be. Silence, deafening silence. It filled the void of nothingness with its malicious tones. Silence. Nothing.
Then, a heartbeat.
It was a small drum, a pulse of life, a breath of air. It filled the void of nothingness with its sweet tones.
Then, a name.
It was honey on his lips, a mellifluous song, a call for help.
"Adelaide," the name dripped from his lips, landing silently on the shards of glass. "Adelaide." His voice was broken, and now that too lay scattered about him. He tried again, but the word didn't have wings strong enough to carry it. Slowly, as in a dream, he tried to open his eyes, and found himself in the midst of a nightmare. His eyelids were heavy, as if they were filled with lead, and his eyes were blank, glazed over with the dull film of shock. It took a while for his eyes to focus, for the film to be ripped away, but once his eyes landed on the shattered windows and the blood on his knuckles, he stopped dreaming.
His hands were still on the steering wheel, his fingers cramping as they wrapped around it, and the seatbelt clung to his body, leaving purple marks where it bit into his skin. A dull ache spread from his thigh. A piece of glass had kissed it, her jagged lips leaving behind a red stain of violent love. He didn't notice any of it though, not the blood, not the bruise, because his eyes were fixed on the seat beside him; It was empty.
"Adelaide," He screamed silently, for still his voice lay shattered on the floor. The drum within his chest beat faster, and the crying violins in his mind rose into a crescendo of doom. She was not there, he could not see her, he could not touch her, he could not kiss her, because she was not...
"Harry," the voice broke though the symphony inside of him, and the car door flew open. She was there, illuminated by the yellow light of the still-glowing headlights. Her face was clean, untouched, as if fate had loved her too much to hurt her.
"Adelaide," He said, and finally his voice flew from his lips and landed on hers.
"Yes, Harry, I'm okay, I'm okay," She said, softly kissing his pink lips. As he felt her breath against his skin, trumpets played in his veins and a piano sung in his heart. She was there, she was alive; he could feel it in her fingertips and in her heart, he could feel it in her hands and in her chest, he could see it in her body and in her eyes. She was alive, she was there, he could feel it.
"Are you sure?" He asked, his eyes a silent rainstorm.
"Yes, I'm okay, just a couple of broken ribs. Are you okay?" He could not answer her question, because the symphony inside of him was too loud, and the storm in his eyes too violent.
"I'm okay," He said. "I'm okay as long as you are okay." She smiled, and suddenly the sun shone though the darkness of the night, and bathed him in her golden light.
He got out of the car, holding her hand in his, their fingers intertwined like the roots of a tree. He would never let her go again, he would forever have her palm against his so that he could feel her heart beat beneath her skin, and know that she was still alive.
They stood still for a while, looking at the wrecked car. The silence of the night engulfed them, her onyx lips kissing everything but them, because the headlights of the car were still smiling, lifting the darkness with their golden haze.
"What are we going to do now?" She asked. "We were chasing the stars, and now we can chase them no longer."
"Now," he said, "We wait. We wait for a car, or for the sun, while we look up. Because my dear, I think we have found the stars." He kissed her temple, and pointed towards the sky, and the thousands constellations above them.
He had his arm around her, and her head rested on his shoulder. They were sitting in front of the car, laughing, talking, dreaming. He played with her elegant hands, his touch so light their fingertips barely kissed. She was humming a lullaby she had learned beneath the blooming apple blossoms of Norway, or maybe on the stony surface of the Spanish steps, she didn't remember, but she sung it anyways. Her voice rose and fell like the last breath of summer, caressing soft skin and kissing pale lips, lifting a couple of dead leaves as it went past. They sat like that for a while, until the summer breeze blew out.
Gentle sleep called her name, and her eyes swam in the purple flowers beneath them. She looked at them through the haze of sleep, and realised there was not only one sort of flower growing there, there were hundreds. It was as though nature herself had plucked them a bouquet of her favourite flowers. Adelaide felt most of their names at the tip of her tongue, but one of them would not form in her mind. She had seen it before, when her dirty hands had watered the flowers in the greenhouse, but now its name had been forgotten, left behind in another time.
She sighed, and let her head fall to his lap, the velvet blanket of sleep draping across her eyes. But as soon as she moved, a low moan escaped her lips. She adjusted herself, her delicate hands falling to her side.
"Are you okay?" He asked, knitting together his eyebrows. Her hair was falling over her eyes, and as he brushed it away, he saw her face contracted in pain. Her eyelashes rested on her cheekbones, and her teeth dug into her lips, their pink colour slowly fading to white.
"Yes, it's just my ribs," she said, grabbing his hand and straightening her back, trying to position herself amidst the flowers. Her small shoulders were stiff, moving with the jagged motions of one that is trying to avoid pain. For a moment, she tried to smile at him, the stars above reflecting in her eyes, but then the smile melted away.
"Actually, no. I don't know." Her voice was trembling, water pooling in her eyes. "Could you take a look at them?" He nodded, and his fingers let go of hers.
Slowly, gently, as so not cause her any pain, he lifted her sweater. Inch by inch, her skin was revealed to him, and in the darkness of the night, she had never looked paler. The colours of her artwork pulsated against its white canvas, the butterfly on her stomach batting its silky wings as she drew in soft breaths. He smiled as he saw it, remembering the day he had fist walked in the museum that was her body, but then her sweater reached its destination, the soft fabric kissing her skin goodbye, and he could smile no longer.
"Oh," she said, "that's unfortunate." Her head fell back into his lap, and her eyes landed on the little flower whose name she seemed to have forgotten. It was small and purple, just like the colour her crushed ribs had imposed upon her skin. She remembered the name now. It rolled off the tip of her tongue like the tears from her eyes; it was a Michaelmas daisy, and it was beautifully tragic.
He placed a gentle hand upon the purple shadow pooling beneath her skin, it was no bigger than his palm, but the colours of the galaxy that swirled together were so dark, he knew there was a black hole in the centre. It resided there, right beneath his fingers, with a crown of broken ivory upon its head. It was pulling the stars towards the void that was its heart, and as he looked at it he knew. He knew the stars in her eyes would be swallowed by it.
"Adelaide," he said. "Adelaide, please look at me." His voice was broken, and her eyes refused to meet his. She was breathing slowly, desperation filling her lungs with every breath, and her head was turned away from him, her damp eyelashes hanging heavy from her eyes. "Adelaide, please, please, look at me." He felt the force of the black hole tug at his soul, and crystallized tears formed in his eyes.
"It's going to be okay," He couldn't breathe. It was as if his lungs were filling with crimson blood, slowly drowning him and the flowers growing in them. "A car is going to come, and they are going to get help, and we are going to be okay. You are going to be okay." He was rambling, the words spilling from his mouth faster than his lips could wrap around them.
As he talked, she stretched out her hand and plucked the little purple flower from its green bed. It rested in her palm, so small, so fragile, so definite. She looked at it for a while, examining every petal, feeling the stem between her fingers, and then she finally looked at him.
"To die, would be an awful big adventure," she said, and placed the flower behind his ear. A tear ran down his face as he felt her fingers brush his skin, and he smiled a bit at her words.
"No Addie. To live, would be an awful big adventure." He kissed her palm, and saw the shadow of a smile play upon her lips. A light breeze blew about them, lifting her hair into the air, and he saw a small star shine within her eyes. It grew bigger and bigger, until her whole face was shining, her light illuminating the night. A laugh took flight from her lips, and landed on his like a feathery kiss.
"If you say so," she breathed, and suddenly the night didn't seem so dark.
The stars above them continued their journey across the sky, and his eyes were soon swimming in sleep. He felt her soft hands braid flowers in his hair; white clovers, and myrtle, pansies and Michaelmas daisies. She was smiling now, tears drying on her cheeks. She had such a peculiar smile. It was as if her lips themselves held the promise of adventure, as if right there, in the corner of her mouth, lay the path to a hidden land. He kissed her, and for a moment, she let him into that ethereal world that was her soul.
He smiled at her, and braided the white flowers of Baby's breath into her hair. For a moment, he was so lost in the pools of her eyes, he did not see the shining headlights approach them.
"Harry look!" She said, a shaky finger pointing out the low-hanging stars. "A car."
He looked up just as the light fell across his face, and for a moment, he went completely blind. The whiteness of the light flowed into his eyes, but she could still see. She saw him get up, and felt the warmth of his body leave her. He was running, the muscles in his legs aching as he pushed the ground away beneath him. His hair flowed about his face, the flowers clinging to the dark curls as he neared the black car. She could see it all, until her eyes went blind with light, and she could see no more.
"Stop!" he cried, desperation falling from his voice. "Please stop!" He waved his arms in the air as he ran. His voice boomed out into the night, and as he shouted, he saw the brown eyes of the woman in the car light up with fear. She stepped on the brakes with a force so strong he could feel the smell of burnt rubber tickle his nose. He was breathing hard, his lungs struggling to keep up with his heart as she rolled down the window with a confused look on her face.
"Please, you have you get help." He couldn't breathe, but he didn't care, the words had to fly into the night, no matter how broken their wings were. "There was an accident, and my – my Adelaide is hurt. She needs help, or else. Please, please get help." The woman in the car looked at the curly haired boy; his bruised knuckles were grasping the car window so hard she feared it might break. His eyes were a burning forest, and as she stared into them, she could see the green trees being consumed by the red flames. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but they didn't carry enough water to extinguish the raging inferno within him.
"Yes," she said, "of course I'll get help." The boy whispered a thank you, and as she drove away, she knew the burns his eyes had left on her skin would never fully heal.
He didn't stay long enough to see the headlights disappear into the night, because he was running once again, this time towards her.
"Adelaide," he said, kneeling down beside her. "She is going to get us some help, you are going to be okay." She was lying on her side, her face half hidden by her hands. "Adelaide?" he whispered, slowly removing her hands from her face. He put a hand on her cheek, stroking the soft, warm skin. "Adelaide," he said again, but she didn't respond, because her eyes were already closed.
"No, no, no." He cried. "Adelaide, please. She is going to get help, you are going to be okay." The flowers in her hair were still fresh. They were smiling at him like they didn't know they were already dead, as if they couldn't feel where their stems had been ripped in two, only to decorate the hair of a girl with stars in her eyes, as if they didn't feel pain.
He took her in his arms and kissed her, and for a moment, all there was left in the world was lips against lips and heart against heart. For a moment, they were back in that greenhouse on that sunny day in late spring, when they had first visited the roots of the flowers, and she had kissed him for the first time. Now she kissed him again, and felt his chapped lips so perfectly against hers. A sigh escaped her, and she entangled her fingers in his flowery hair. He melted in her hands, and a sob rose from his throat.
He pulled away from her, a smile blending with his tears. She was smiling too, but as his name fell from her lips, he saw that the stars in her eyes were still fading.
"Harry," she said, and let her fingers slide along his jaw before she cupped his cheek in her hands. He lifted her shirt, and once again found himself face to face with the galaxy. It had expanded, and now not even his fingers could reach across it. He knit his eyebrows together and bit his lips as he tried to swallow his tears. He was burning and drowning all at once, because the stars in her eyes were dying, and so was she.
"Harry." His name. That was all she said, but he thought it was the most beautiful song he had ever heard. The tones dipped into his heart and flowed through his veins. It burnt his skin and watered the flowers in his hair; because it was an "I love you" and a "goodbye" all at the same time.
"Soon," he said. "The sun is going to rise above those trees, and you are going to see it. You are going to see it, because I know, that tough the stars in your eyes may fade, the sun in your heart will never cease to shine."
The boy and the girl sat there, swimming in the sea of purple flowers, waiting, waiting, waiting. The boy had bruises on his knuckles, and tears upon his cheeks. The girl had a canvas of white skin, and a bucket of red paint to colour it blue. Yet they both had flowers in their hair, and "I love you's" on their lips, while they waited, waited, waited, for the sun to rise.
The velvet night turned grey and white, and soon birds were singing in the trees. Morning had come, fresh faced and rosy cheeked, and then they had to wait no longer.
"Look Adelaide, the sun," The curly haired boy said. "The sun is rising."
"I can see it," the golden girl whispered, but she never saw the shining sun rise above the trees; she saw it reflected in his green eyes.
Legend says they found them that morning, when the dew still clung to the purple petals, and the stars in her eyes had gone out. No one ever knew what had really happened, but still the flowers that had grown inside their beautiful chests travelled from lips to lips, until they withered away and turned to dust. And so she became an urban legend. A warning. A dare; someone people told their younger siblings about when they wanted to brag about how awesome it was to be a teenager. The details and the ending would always change, but the conclusion to the story was always that; "That girl had some serious daddy issues."
Because no one knew. No knew about the flowers within their chests. No one knew about the golden butterflies within their hearts. No one knew about the broken greenhouse or the blooming cherry blossom tree.
No one knew. Except you, me, and a curly haired boy with burning trees in his eyes.
THE END.