AN: Wow, a new story? When I should be working on re-writing the old ones... er. Yeah.

I just started writing... and this is what became of it. I think I'll enter it in the creative writing contest at my school. Though, I kinda doubt I'll win. Eh, c'est la vie.

I hope you like it. And I hope you do review, even if you don't like it.

Emeralds

A smile.

A gesture so simple, almost unnoticeable, can change everything.

That’s how it started. A simple smile, well, simply a cocky, over-confident, and smirky kind of smile. I thought I despised it, but I suppose there’s a thin line between love and hate.

She smiled, her short, dark fringe obscuring the green eyes that I knew were smirking as well. She was beautiful in the kind of way that took no effort. She just was. She even tried to look worse, but it only made her prettier.

Pretty. She always hated that word. She said it didn’t suit her, that if I must call her something, it couldn’t be pretty. But in my eyes, she always was.

I wish I’d known sooner how she’d felt about me and my ragged and mismatched appearance. We could have had more time. My hair was always tied up messily back then, dirty blonde strands falling loose every time I moved. Old saggy jeans, splattered with paint and whatever shirt was clean. And that first smile (or was it a smirk), I had charcoal everywhere. I think that’s why she smiled. No, I know it’s why she smiled.

“You’ve got a smudge on your nose, Blondie.”

Her blunt way of speaking had me at those first words. What was it about her? The way she treated me, unlike everyone? Or was it the way she looked at me, straight in the eye, emerald boring into chocolate?

It must have been her eyes. I can remember them all too well. Always glistening with joy, even when she wasn’t happy. Always bright and engaging; always observant and sharp…

Always perfect.

That’s what she was. Perfect. In every sense of the word. The perfectly ripped jeans; the perfectly fitted t-shirts that highlighted her perfect body; the perfect way her fringe fell into her eyes, not obscuring, merely enhancing their intensity; the perfect smirk or smile, whatever it was; everything, perfectly brilliant.

It was that brilliance that always kept her in my mind. Now and forever, she’s there, ingrained into my memory like a stone carving.

I remember our first kiss. I expected her to be more forceful, rougher, but it was soft and sweet. Loving, almost. I was surprised; she never appeared to be the type. She was always outspoken, always bold, and always fiery with emotion. Yet her kisses were sweet, gentle as the summer rain. That first kiss soon progressed to more. First more of the same, sweet, soft kisses, and then more of what I’d first expected. More passion, more dominance. And I never pushed her away, not once. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, and I wanted her as badly as she wanted me. I needed her…

But she needed no one.

At least, that’s how she acted. At school, she pretended I wasn’t there. She had her crowd and I had no one. She’d shoot me the occasional smirk, though her eyes smiled lovingly. I remember I was painting during lunch hour once day, alone in the studio, just green. Just like those brilliant eyes. But I could never capture that intensity. Green seemed dull unless it was in her eyes.

I hated school. I was friendless, the outcast. But after class, before my parents came home, her kisses washed away all the darkness of my day. When we finally gave into our bodies’ cries, it was the most breathtaking bliss I’d ever known.

Of course, all good things come to an end.

I remember the day before so clearly in my mind.

Her eyes were dull, lacking their usual zest for life; her cheeks were sunken in, like the dead; and that smile (smirk?) was nowhere to be found.

Oh, why did he say such cruel things to her?

Brothers are supposed to be supportive, loving, unconditionally. But not him. Never him. She was alone, and coming out had caused such a ruckus in her home. The shouts, the insults, the punches that were thrown.

I’ve always thought one should think before they speak, because once something is said, it can never, ever, be taken back. It’s aura floats though the air, never dissipating, never leaving, always there, in the back of one’s mind.

“I hate you.”

He had said. The day I saw her lifeless soul, was the last time I saw her. Morning came, and the news was far from pleasant.

“A senior high school student took her own life last night after…”

I couldn’t listen to the rest. They didn’t reveal her name, but I knew. Oh, I wish I didn’t, but I knew.

I never saw her again.

I wasn’t at the funeral, and I never visited her grave.

When I smile, it’s never true. Love is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and mine was gone as quickly as it had come.

My parents never did find out. Eventually, I married. They were pleased, especially pleased that he was a doctor. But it wasn’t for love. Not the same love. I love him, but not like her. Never like her. She will always be my one and only.

But I couldn’t be with another girl. Not after her. It was for the best anyway. My family thinks I’m just an average woman, with an average husband and an average job.

But I can still see that smile.

And the green.