13 December 2006

Inspired by a story I once read.

-----

Jack and Jill

-----

Jack and Jill went up the hill.

This was how it always was: Jack and Jill, Jill and Jack, Jack and Jill.

They played on that hill around the well, bringing up pails of water that was no longer there. They were two young children, barely aware of their own feelings for each other; best friends till the end. They tumbled up and down the hill, grass stained and wide-mouthed.

Jack grew older, became more handsome. Black hair filled out, dark eyes stood out, dark mouth grew plush, and lean, tanned arms from working outside. He was a handsome young man, but so shy, so shy, what a waste.

Jill was more plain with orange hair and green eyes, a smatterig of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones; not too dark, not too much, just there. She was lithe with a pretty face and thin, artistic fingers. She was bold and spoke up for Jack, too in love with him to see that she was.

Jack and Jill were inseperable, but their parents did not worry. They were good friends, close friends, best friends. That's the way it always was, that's the way it always will be.

Jack asked Jill out on a date. They didn't tell their parents about it, merely saying that they were going to a movie as they always did. Jill changed subtly, applying a little bit of make-up and wearing her low-rise jeans and wedge boots. No one notised, just thought that she was attempting to be more feminine after years of acting like a boy.

They tumbled down the hill, breathless and happy. They clung to each other, too far in love to be able to say it. Jill murmured it against his skin, Jack whispered it against her neck. They could not tell everyone, not after so many years of being such good friends.

They lay in the grass, staring at the sky and making wishes on glittering stars. Jack clutched Jill's hand tightly. He loved her, he loved his bold Jill.

They met every night, not one suspicion from a single person, tumbling on the hill in the grass. They were so in love: Jack and Jill, Jill and Jack, Jack and Jill.

To fetch a pail of water.

It rained one night, pouring sheets of hard, cold rain. They danced in it, laughing and shrieking with delight. Jill kissed him tenderly, smiling so wide that Jack was afraid her face would split. He kissed her back and they rolled down the slick hill, crying with happiness.

They left with a promise to meet back here at dawn, sealed with a kiss. They sponged off the mud and slipped into the covers, awaiting dawn.

Jack got up just before dawn, hoping to pick the flowers that Jill loved so much.

Jill awoke at dawn, her mind troubled. She yanked on fresh clothes and snuck out the window, running to the hill. She ran to the well, staring curiously at Jack. He had stuck his head in the well, which was overflowing with water, as if searching for something.

Jill collected the flowers that were thrown aside and lay them aside neatly. She knelt next to Jack, gently prodding his arm and calling his name.

He gave no response.

Panic gripped her chest and pulled Jack's head out of the water. She gasped and shuddered, unbelieveing. She wept tears, thick as pearls, uncomprehending to the large gash and the water spilling from his lips. She screamed out, anguished and terrified. This person could not be her Jack, her wonderful, sweet, and thoughtful Jack. He could not be dead, broken crown and drowned.

Their parents awoke to the horrible cries, running out the door to the top of the hill, following the crescendo of shrieks and unintelligable stream of words. They found Jill screaming with Jack's head, blue and cold, cradled in her lap.

She shrieked over and over, shaking violently, weeping over his cadaver. They dragged her away, sobbing along with her. She collapsed on the grass, crying like a lost lover with no one left in the world.

She went to the funeral, swollen eyes cast down. She trembled when she went up to the casket to kiss him on the forehead. Jill mumured a few words and walked back to her seat, vision blurred with tears.

Jack fell down and broke his crown.

It rained hard that night, like the last night Jill had spent with Jack. He had died because of her, died to gather some pretty flowers that she loved. No longer did she love them; she abhored them.

She snuck out the window and walked to the top of the hill. She lay in the same spot as she had on that night, curling up on her side. Her orange hair lay in the mud, wild and free and long. Jill was all dry, out of tears, the rain was now her tears. She lay in the mud, thinking of Jack, as the rain lulled her to sleep. She did not notise how cold it was. She shut her eyes, wondering what she would do now that Jack was gone.

They found her in the morning on the hill, lifeless and cold, but with a happy smile frozen to her wan face.

And Jill came tumbling after.