Don't Speak

The sun hung low in the rosy skies, casting its honey glare across two women sitting beneath a barren oak tree. Between the pair, ripped into the meat of the wood, were two messy initials.

W. F. O. + S. B.

Neither spoke a word as they both stared ahead into the sunset, into the remnants of a still smoldering building, into the face of acts unspoken. Their breaths still came in short huffs though they hadn't moved - more than a twitch here or a caress there - in what felt like months. One pale, callose and burn covered palm gently rested on much darker, much softer knuckles littered in minor lacerations. Their clothes were nothing more than ash drenched rags hanging from their bodies, one boney and sharp where the other was soft and plush. Even their hair happened to be polar opposites, with one long, barely curved hair style, rusty blonde at the tips that rose to a blood red and the other owning her naturally tightly coiled, short raven afro.

Despite all their differences, they both had tired eyes, slumped shoulders and deep grimaces. They seemed haunted, distant from both the world and each other. As if they were running from something whilst still sitting beneath that singular oak tree at the top of an otherwise empty hill.

A chill swept through the wind, bringing with it the fire haired woman to her feet. Their hands still clung together, carrying a fresh life until the standing woman looked back to her sitting counterpart.

She gave a small, weak shake of her head as a trembling breath caught in her throat. She still stared into the distance, down into the valley that once felt like a fortress. She couldn't, she wasn't sure if she ever could. But, the standing woman also couldn't.

Sacha shut her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them the distance had been pushed away from her russet gaze to now only hold a somber understanding. She gave a slow nod. Just as carefully, the tall woman had reached out and pulled her partner against her stick-like, making herself into a crutch for the raven haired woman.

Wendy struggled to stand on her own, knees and thighs wobbling as if she were a newborn deer. She kept shaking her head as she collapsed into her lovers calculated grasp, eyelids clamping shut. She was unsure if she was desperately trying to let more tears tear down her cheeks or force them away, to never let them fall again. No dew trickled even as she let off mousey sobs, small and painfully dry.

They needed to leave. Sacha made it clear, despite trying to make it seem as though it was simply for the want to leave Wendy knew that it was becoming more and more urgent for them to disappear. The ghost of sirens seared in their minds rapidly becoming a reality.

Their hands were tightly entwined as Sacha practically carried Wendy away, gentle shushing falling from the Russian woman's lips as they shuffled down the hill. The opposite direction of all the sounds, of the ash stricken building, the road, into the wilderness of a forest. Slowly, their sluggish meander turned into Wendy taking charge, running and running and running.

Far too soon, night fell on the pair. Still, they ran, even as twigs snapped, and predators eyed them in the shadows. Neither woman was able to stop, even as both of their sides began to ache, as they ran out of breath, as their lungs became alight with flames. They didn't stop until they broke free of the tree line, into a lake shore, as the sun made it's golden glow along the horizon.

Sacha and Wendy were once again watching the sun, now as it began its arch into the sky above and cast its shine across the lake. It graced the women with a warm hug. They were still gasping for breath, and the air felt clear in their chest for the first time.