Untitled by Anonymous

Untitled by Anonymous

                The sound of feet hitting pavement permeates the air. Lines and lines of people marching together in unison fill the streets. A cool autumn breeze dances around the lines of people. Pirouetting through the orderly mass and finding its way to a young man. He marches like everyone else around him. Foot by foot. Step by step. Following the age-old tradition just like the others in the lines of people marching. A familiar sound fills his ears, as a horn is blown somewhere in the distance. All at once, the streaks of people walking, stop, and so does he. Standing completely still. No one dares to make any slight movement. He looks forward to see the usual field of people all in gray. In front of him standing perfectly still is a girl. She wears the same gray dress, as all of the other girls do, that skims her ankles when she walks. Her golden hair is cut exactly where it meets her shoulders. No more no less. Day after day he sees this girl in front of him, yet he has never seen her face. Nonetheless he has fallen completely in love with her. The pep in her step that makes him go insane. The way the beams of light bounce on her golden and luscious hair and the way they fall gracefully to the ground. He loves everything about her. He follows her and she follows the next person, never looking back. Never questioning tradition. The smell of wet leaves and fresh crisp air fills his nostrils as he breathes in. Swiftly an unaccustomed hum fills the open air. It is lovely and sweet. To the young man’s shock it is coming from right in front of him. What started as a soft hum abruptly gallops into a belting song. Heads sharply turn to see what the source of this monstrosity of a sound is. The words that she sings kiss her lips as they escape her mouth and fly away into the fall air. Scowls and disgusted faces whip around as if trying to swat the music away. Then in a sudden whirlwind, the young girl rips her gray dress off revealing her naked body painted with vibrant colors. The darkest purples fade into the brightest of yellows. Covering every inch of her body, the dyes scream and shout, wanting to be seen. The young man can only stand there, watching this unfold in astonishment. She then takes a small but very distinct step to her left. She is now out of line. As she throws her hands up trying to touch the heavens, she screams, “You cannot oppress me! This will not sta-” and before she can finish her thought, the piecing sound of a gun being fired resonates through the air. Her body sinks to the ground and everyone is silent. She lies motionless on the floor. The young man looks down and sees the hole where the blood is coming from. It is perfectly placed in the middle of her two eyes. The stream of blood flows down and across her face, to where a pool of deep red is already starting to form. He sees her face in all of its beauty and glory. He feels as if he can get lost in the azure lakes which are her eyes. They pierce him as she lifelessly stares into the sky. The corners of her light pink lips curl up and form a smile. Then comes the second beckoning tone of a horn. One by one the lines shift forward. People break their stare at the girl and look forward once more. The young man steps over her and fills the gap in front of him. Once again the sound of feet hitting the pavement, in unison, fills his ears. Foot by foot. Step by step he marches with everyone else, leaving her body behind.



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