. sans soleil --

[sierra winterby]

[/i][/b][/color] brushed past the girl as she stood alone facing a forrest of black. She was tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of hurting. She longed for solitude, a place where she could gather her thoughts and purge herself of the wrenching pain that attached itself to every wispy memory she held onto so tightly. But this was a hopeless hope, a desperate dream she no longer believed in. Brushing away a single tear with a cold palm, she stared aimlessly ahead. The city had outdone itself once again, dressing the park in a festive gown of bulbous lights. They gleamed silently against the backdrop of trees and sky, their luminescence bringing a warmth to the enormous grounds. But Sierra felt nothing but the distant frost that seemed to always be around.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Sierra started forward, a listless determination to find that place haunting her cloudy blue eyes. Her heart beat in a rapid staccato against her chest as she walked unevenly deeper into the park. The cheers and laughter of merry couples and families could be heard from across the park. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care. She just had to keep moving, putting more distance from herself and the memories of Alexandre. Alexandre de Lancret, someone who had hurt her more than she ever thought possible. She had believed in love before. The erratic sensations that pulsed through her body as she fell into another's arms. She remembered the triumphant thrill that brought a too wide smile to her fleshy lips. And the way minutes seemed to slip by effortlessly in one another's company. That had been love for Sierra Winterby before Alexandre. A mere schoolyard infatuation hyped to extreme proportions. She had believed that was it, what all the writers spent time writing about and all the actors tried so desperately to recreate on stage. But she was wrong. Alexandre had shown her there was an entire spectrum of emotions left to conquer. He had opened her eyes to the depths of herself.

Their friendship had always been something more than it was. She could never understand him the way she had others, nor anticipate his next move. He was an enigmatic figure that had eluded her attempts at unraveling his secrets. Perhaps that was what brought her to the greens of the Eiffel Tower that day. Her curiosity that drove her to ask him more than she knew he could give her. The girl thought she had known how to feel but Alexandre had brought her to heights unseen prior and ultimately to depths unforeseen. A mere hologram had taken over while her battered self retreated. Drugs, alcohol and foreign company had played a placebo for comfort. But even they weren't enough. Too many nights had erupted in nightmares for Sierra to suppose she had escaped the lingering memories of his touch. She had been left with nothing but bruises on her demeanor. The formerly ebullient charmer had disappeared in a foggy grey area. She had lived her life in the margins. But seeing Alexandre again on this inauspicious night marked a shift. Little did Sierra know just how much he had gotten to her.

Without a sound, Sierra crossed the little frozen path to the Grand Bassin, a large freshwater pond where children played during the daylight hours. But now as the night fell further over the skies, the calm waters lapped at the empty shores. The girl spotted a lone bench a few paces away. Within seconds, Sierra had perched herself upon the frigid wooden slabs, her mind reeling back the memories of the cloudy day they had spent at the Parc du Champs de Mars.

He had never promised her anything and yet every part of her felt broken when he had let her go.

[/ul]

[alexandre de lancret]

music | 23 by blonde redhead

His feet pounding

[/b][/i][/color] against the gravel was the only thing he heard. They were methodic, purposeful, driven. He could rely his thoughts on them, keep his thumping heart aligned to their beat. If he just focused on them, then he wouldn't have to remember all the pain, and all the struggle. If he just listened to their rhythm, he wouldn't have to remember the girl who had taken so much from him, when she had given him everything.

Far up ahead, a lithe shadow ducked between hedges and disappeared. Quickening his pace as not to lose them, he followed. His thoughts kept close and chose not to stray that night. He listened to the beating of his heart, his breath coarse like sandpaper as he exhaled, laughter echoed in the distance, a honk of a car, the crisp crunch of a leaf underfoot, the scattering of gravel as he ran. Sweeping his fingers across his forehead, he brushed his hair out of his dark eyes. Then suddenly, as he turned around the corner of the hedge in lissome stride, he halted.

Before him, an immense fountain sprawled out at the base of an ornate building. The placid waters reflected the moon overhead as clearly as the silken surface of a mirror. A forgotten toy boat sat at the closest bend, left behind from the remains of the day. And in front of him was a bench like all the others - faded green paint chipping, iron sides rusting to a burnt orange. Except Sierra Winterby was leaning her slender arm along the rusted iron.

Her milky skin appeared like gossamer beneath the pale light of the moon. Light traces of purple veins spun along the tendons of her palm. They appeared like intricate trails of a spider's web beneath the faint light of night. Her long and slender fingers idly caressed the curve of the bench; her pale fingertips brushing off the flakes of maroon rust that now appeared gray in the night. Casting his gaze quickly around the park, he realized how all colors had faded and bled to a gray wash. There was no color around their two solitary figures but shades of gray.

He stood watching the outline of her figure as the world moved on around them. Time passed in fleeting moments, in languid minutes. A star above fell beneath the drapery of the black sky as it died centuries ago, reaching only now. But Alexandre did not see it as he traced along the silhouette of Sierra's frame in a strange sort of agony. The pain did not rip through him, nor did it ache. It stumbled along in a confused frustration. It longed to find its place, though it could not settle upon a particular moment or emotion. It ran lost through his body, tormenting him. Alexandre raked his fingers along his hair, dragging his nails across his scalp.

Then, she turned - the camber of her cheek alighted in the pale of the moon.

And all at once, everything collided in vehement force. Like a shattered pane of glass, whose jagged shards had fallen back into place, his memories aligned with ragged corners. The wind caught in the willow tree's branches, the musky scent of his father's cologne, the smell of rain in the fields, the corner of Natale's mouth, the color of her hair - like summer wheat, a peeling strip of wallpaper in an old hotel, dust sifting through the air as a car retreated in the distance, rain falling in trails down his dorm room window, the heavy gray of sky, the curve of Sierra's lips against his, the flare in his chest when she aligned her eyes with his, her slender bare wrist, her happiness, her shadows, her pain, his pain, her struggle, his struggle, the beat of her heart -

A swell in his chest had formed, as he sought to understand, to see. At last, he took a step forward - the weight of his body crashing down on him. Softly, he stepped to the empty seat beside her and rested his heavy frame. She started, and quickly turned, flashing her incandescent gaze through him. Her slender body stiffened and jerked as if to move. Slowly, Alexandre extended his arm and wrapped his pallid fingers around her thin forearm. "Please," he whispered, his voice a hoarse whisper above the warm breeze. "Please don't go."

He gazed at her for another moment, his eyes tired and mind weak. Releasing his gentle hold on her, he pushed his spine against the back of the bench. Silence enveloped them. The world existed around them as they remained by each other. The world around them uncertain -

In shades of gray.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[sierra winterby]

[/i][/b][/color] hung loose on her lashes, caught in the uncertainty that tainted the crisp night air. She could hear the thudding of arriving footsteps. Coming closer. And closer. Before it fell silent, the figure coming to a complete stop. The sudden silence that swelled in the air pushed out of her mind all the memories that had been corroded with time. The images of a half empty bottle of vodka against the backdrop of emerald blades of grass, its contents swilling from one end to another. A basket of uneaten strawberries sitting atop a stained book bag. The tingling that raced across the cusp of her lips. The staggering bewilderment that showed plainly only in his dark eyes.

The emptiness inside her felt gaping. Like it tore apart everything else inside, spreading until the blackness pulled at her vocal chords, stealing her words from them. She couldn'y bring herself to lift her head. To face him would confirm everything she already knew to be. She was already dead and yet this pain persisted, gripping her arms, her chest with such force. Its touch seemed to burn deep into her cold flesh. Burn white and hot with such abruptness that only then did her head snapped up towards the pain. It was then she realized it was Alexandre, his thin fingers stretched across her forearm. Without thinking, she pulled away with dull force. Her eyes wide with unnerving resolve. Her face was a expanse of emptiness, there was no emotion to color its planes. She had disappeared into the unmarked grey fog that arrived only with this loss.

His words tumbled forth with sincerity, but it was lost on Sierra. Her mind delivered the message so tarnished, it was hardly recognizable by the time she decoded its meaning. She turned away, the golden locks of her hair sweeping across her face. Her gaze fell on nothing in particular, darting back and forth in the darkness. "Stop." She spoke, her voice sounding brittle, even to her. But it was of no consequence. She spoke again to the air opposite Alexandre. "Stop looking at me like that! It's not me you're seeing." The lump in her throat had grown with each word and her voice was thick with distress. She blinked hard, the single tear disappearing as it parted from her dark lashes. Falling, falling into the abyss.

He didn't see her. Didn't see the hurt that ripped through her body, coursing through her veins hot and angry. He hadn't seen the hope fleeing her sapphire eyes as she stared into the busy Parisian traffic that startlingly inconspicuous afternoon. He would never know.

A wall of silence built itself up between them once again as Sierra struggled to keep herself rooted to the cold wooden slabs of the park bench. Because every cell in her body screamed to be released. The more distance she could put between herself and this one soul was everything she could ask for. It was simply much too hard for her to be this close to him. It hurt too much. Like grains of salt that fell one by one into an open wound. The pain was sharp and prickled everywhere. It was always just almost too much for her to handle. Always almost too much.

"It's not me you're seeing,"

She repeated with a struggle. Each word was crisp, clear as it departed from her colorless lips and danced into the chilly air. She knew they rang true. Truer, she believed, than anything else that existed. And it killed her to realize this. That when she peered into the depths of his mahogany eyes, he saw someone else. And each time she looked, it only assured her that she would never completely have him. That he was already lost in a time she didn't exist.

Alexandre looked at her, but never saw her as who she was.
He didn't see her.

[/ul]

[alexandre de lancret]

music | baby’s romance by chris garneau

It was the afternoon.

[/b][/i][/color] A wasp ducked in between the blades of moist grass. Crumpled dead leaves lay strewn like fallen soldiers on a forgotten battlefield. The overhead sun cut shadows into fingertips of spreading hands. A breeze swept goosebumps along his bare forearms. It tickled the grass – reflecting the sun in a hundred refractions of light. Alexandre turned the page in his book. Cars were a distant hum in the background. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled of musk – of earth. Trees previously a uniform shade of green were changing to goldenrod, to russet, saffron, crimson. He stared at them perplexed at their beauty. Why in death did they become unique? Become beautiful? He tucked back a corner of his mouth as the thought disappeared and he returned to his book.

- - - - -

”Stop looking at me like that! It’s not me you’re seeing,” her voice wavered on the boughs of uncertainty and incredible despair. How could she be so sure? He looked over to her for a ponderous moment. Her makeup had smeared, her hair was disheveled. She wasn't the same girl that day in the park. There was a part of her missing. But was she beautiful at this moment? He thought of those leaves, of autumn, of death. He didn’t want to think of it – it terrified him, the answer. He fidgeted in his seat. ”It’s not me you’re seeing,” she repeated. He felt himself falling. Everything was so wrong. He brought his sore index finger to his mouth as he tried to understand the situation. A wasp had stung him earlier.

- - - - -

The wasp that had been weaving throughout the lawn suddenly flew up and perched on the corner of his book. Tentatively, he reached up to touch its wavering wings. Iridescent in the sun, they looked like the spider webs that would form in between the branches of the willow tree at his old home. Sharply, the pain blossomed on the pink flesh of his fingertip. A cracked cry broke from his mouth. The stinger was nestled comfortably into his skin. Slowly, he grabbed it with two fingernails and extracted it, grimacing with pain. He looked around for the wasp as he flung the stinger off into the lawn. Then he shifted his book and saw. It lay dead on the ground.

- - - - -

He put down his hand and stared to the trembling waters of the fountain. ”You’ve been hiding,”[/color] he said in a soft voice, his eyes downcast. ”How can I see you when you're not there?” He knew what she had meant. He looked over wanting her to look back. If she would only look, he would know. Look at me, he pleaded silently. Please. Look at me. Look at me. Everything will be alright, only if you look.

He didn’t choose her. She didn’t choose him. So why couldn’t they just walk away? ”The seasons are changing.” Undying echoes reverberated in his thoughts. He had spoken those words to Sierra on a day so different than this night. And as soon as the memory had passed, Sierra tucked her chin against her shoulder and slowly lifted her steel gray eyes to him.

“Because they must, it’s their nature and all they know,” she had told him. The moon basked pale on the smooth of her skin. Her gray eyes pierced him like tiny pins, entering his heart and filling him with the sorrow that consumed her. She was broken. And yet, he couldn’t help but to think - she was beautiful. With a weighted heart, he knew now.

Autumn was coming.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]