Dedications: The Rain & The Dark.

Phasma meum quiescete

The large garden lay before him in silence. The snow on the ground had remained untouched, for no one had trodden here for the longest time, until now. He looked up at the naked, dark trees with hanging branches and let out a frosty breath. The warm air turned to white smoke and vanished shortly after, short-lived. It is cold tonight, he thought and vaguely rubbed his fingers together inside the pockets without noticing. The house on his right side was old and intimidating, like straight out of a horror movie from the old days. The curtains that still hung in the windows were dusty and had lost their colour. He had been here during day time too.

Patiently he waited and tightened the blue scarf around his neck a little to keep warm. Another ten minutes passed by in silence, but not boredom. Mellow, blue eyes watched the falling snowflakes, and absently wondered when it would stop snowing.

He reached inside his right pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The chilly wind toyed a little with his half length, red hair and threatened to kill the small flame produced by the lighter. Quickly he lit the cigarette and put the things back into his pocket. The breaths he sucked in polluted his lungs further, and calmed his nerves.

Cigarettes have a way of doing that, he mused.

The moon came out from behind the clouds, and for the briefest moment he could see the entire garden bathed in soft, silvery light. Just as it went back into hiding he caught sight of long, blonde locks of hair over by an old swing, next to where the rose bushes would be during summer.

He began moving towards the swing, trying to ignore that he was almost knee deep in the cold, thick snow. The light was gone, but he could hear the creaking of the swing.

He pulled out a mitten clad hand and supported himself on one of the metal bars that kept the swing together. The darkness bothered him less by the minute, and he quietly waited for the someone to speak.

He always waited.

“Who...are you?” asked a thin, trembling female voice.

“A friend,” he replied softly and tossed his cigarette away to seem less intimidating. It disappeared somewhere in the snow.

He could see her more clearly now. Her thin, small form had a glow of its own, a weak, blue light that pulsated with the rhythm of a heart. The blonde fringe fell before her eyes, but in the dark he would not have been able to distinguish their colour either way.

“Shall I push you?” he asked.

She nodded, first slowly, then again.

“Yes please.”

He trudged through the snow to stand behind her, at a reasonable distance as to not be hit by the swing when it came back. The swing creaked as he grasped the metal chains and pulled them towards himself, then let go, all without touching the girl. Her blonde locks were thrown about by the wind and movement.

She is beautiful, he thought, but kept it to himself. It made no difference whether she knew his opinion or not.

“I have seen you before, you come by every now and then. Why are you here?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder to look at his face. His blue eyes were still and held a serene calm that soothed her.

His eyes are those of one who has seen too much hurt.

“I was looking for you,” he replied quietly and stepped away. He came up to stand before her, face serious and arms hanging by his sides. Her swinging came to a halt, and shortly after she was just sitting there.

“For me?”

He nodded. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, and she stood up. Her feet left no tracks behind, or even moved the snow aside as she took two steps toward him. On her lips was a smile, albeit sad, and she reached out to take his hands in her own. Her pale fingers glided through the gloves, sending a shiver through his body at the cold touch.

“I was waiting for so long,” she whispered, and her childish, brown eyes locked with his as she looked up. Transparent tears were shimmering in them, and a single tear rolled down the pearly, white cheek. She tip toed, and her lips ghosted over his in the briefest of touches, before he stood back.

“You can rest now.”

She let her arms fall to her sides, and nodded.

Let me go.

The moon broke through the clouds again, and he watched her eyes fall shut. The moonlight illuminated her beautiful, sad face, and the trace of tears was visible. He never took his eyes off her as he whispered the words of release.

“Phasma meum quiescete.”

The glow pulsated more strongly for a moment, before it began to fade altogether. He watched her dissolve and turn into nothing without frowning, or showing any change of expression at all. The girl smiled at him still as she faded and he once again was left alone in the dark winter night.

He stared at the spot where the girl had been standing just moments ago, then turned around and started walking back. The snow had soaked his pants, and he shuddered violently from the feeling of the wet fabric against skin. It was much too cold for an October night.

His fingers were frozen inside the gloves, and he muttered a soft curse as he tried lighting another cigarette and failed. It took him three tries to get it right. Once the cigarette was between his lips he drew in a long, poisonous breath and sighed.

It was about time he was on his way.

-

Note: The strange phrase comes from latin and means something like Sleep, my spirit.

Edit: Huge thanks to sincerely disregard for correcting my absolutely -horrible- attempt at Latin. And thanks to you'll see for pointing out my "odd" words.