Hidden Beneath a Shrug

Like her ponytail, she was not perfect. The pieces of golden brown hair hung off to the right through the simple elastic the same direction her tears drifted until they caught on the corner of her thin, pink lips where her tongue would sneak out and lick away the drops. The tears she failed to catch had pooled together on her cherished crimson scarf.

As the young brunette heard footsteps coming she stopped flicking the puddle of tears gathered on the scarf, got up from the park bench, and brushed her slender, callus white fingertips over the dust particles that had collected early that day all over the faded blue jeans. She took special care with the hole exposing her right knee.

As the footsteps boomed in her petit ears she took a deep breath, held it and wiped away the smudged tears on her cheeks. In front of the bench she stood waiting for the concern to greet her at full by staring at the plain white running shoes on her feet. The shoes were so in need of replacement that she couldn't remember the last time the brand name had been visible on the side of the soles.

"Breanna!"

The breath she had been holding in was let out then sucked back in. She turned to look and stopped any movement of her body like the tragic deer caught the in glare of headlights.

There were three young women walking towards her –one with black hair, one with blond, the last with a deep chestnut mane- and each one of them wore an article of black clothing.

As familiar arms enclosed around her shoulders she returned the gesture reluctantly. When she was released she looked into the brown eyes with her own careless pure green set. The other woman's hands traveled to the brunettes thrown over beige jacket and 'tsk, tsk'ed.

"It's fall, Brea. You need to button up." Said the other woman as she covered up a white tee shirt the brunette wore underneath. The only gesture received was a shrug. For a young person whose body should be full of heat she didn't feel it, she didn't feel anything except numb.

"How long has it been?" One of the two other women asked, tilting her chestnut hair covered head to the side. The women received a glare but not from the other brunette.

The brunette shrugged. "I don't know."

7 years. It had been seven years and she had yet to move on. He was unforgettable like that.

"Is that why you're wearing the scarf he gave you?" Asked the blond.

"Of course, Sarah." The brunette answered emotionlessly.

"Let's not talk about this, ok?" The raven-haired best friend suggested.

"Whatever." Came the brunette's reply.

The four began walking to their destination, a café. So opposite a mood it would hold from the ones they had walking in the cold autumn air. In the café they would act as if the conversation they were having, that was so serious, had never happened and go on talking about shoes or books.

"Did you visit Donny's grave today?" That was the regretful speech the best friend said leaving the brunette's eyes staring at her. "Oops."

The brunette's forest-like eyes lightened in amusement. "Yeah, I did. It still says 'Donovan Charles Clark. The unforgettable grandfather guardian. May he always be remembered. Rest In Peace.'"

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A/N: All right. That was a character description I had to write for English class that became more of a one shot. It's supposed to be about the brunette, Breanna, but I get too caught up in my ideas sometimes. Hope you liked it.

R&R