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Shame; Tearjerker Microstory GRP
Topic Started: Thu May 24, 2018 4:19 am (28 Views)
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(OOC: This brief tale is from Pyx's youth.)

Pyx waited outside the schoolroom, his gangly form a taught bowstring of nervous energy. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, placed his hands in his pockets and pulled them back out, ran his hands through his hair, and paced from side to side. A thrush sang exuberantly in the gardens nearby, and the loose stones that lined the path clacked lightly beneath his feet. The bird's sweet song was a delightful herald to his afternoon, and he smiled eagerly. All was certain to go well.

She stepped outside the door; the light of his earth, the first thought of his day. She wore a purple dress, and silver beads in her dark hair. They had shared a classroom for two years. He had loaned her a quill, and she had liked his flute-playing. She had helped him with an assignment, and he had shared his mother's baking. She was the cleverest girl in their year, and a goddess to mere mortals compared to all the rest.

Now was his chance; he was lucky, she was alone. The thrush sang eagerly, delightedly. Pyx had planned his request, it would be perfect. Good afternoon, my lady, with a charming bow, presenting flowers. Might you do me the honor of accompanying me to the summer picnic?

She approached. Their eyes met in passing, as those of acquaintances will, and she smiled politely. Pyx stepped forward with purpose, and presented her with the flowers he'd plucked from his family's garden that morning.

The girl stopped, looking in surprise at Pyx. His hair was a mess from his restless fussing. The flowers he presented had been picked too long ago and had wilted terribly, their heads sagging and petals falling to the ground. She and Pyx both realized the sad state of the bouquet at once, and Pyx stuttered regretfully. "Um," he said, blushing bright red. "Sorry. I- I guess I'm not very good with flowers. They're for you. Or they were, if you want them, though you might not, now."

She stared at him, perfectly still. He stuttered on. "I wa- wanted to ask if you would... that is, it would be an honor... would y- you accompany me tomorrow, at the picnic?" Perhaps not as graceful as he had planned, but what did that matter? The question was out, and his heart raced in anticipation. She was his friend, his light, his match. She would understand.

She walked away as gloriously as she had come. The thrush continued its song eagerly, its delight contrasting so vividly with his despair that he hated it with the utmost intensity. In a rush of frustration he picked up a stone from the path and hurled it haphazardly in the direction of the bird.

Its song stopped.

Pyx froze. He somehow knew the foolish, horrible thing he had just done. He walked to where the body of the bird lay lifeless on the ground. It was his fault. She had seen through his unworthy character, she had been right to walk away. What a fool he was.
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