I just wrote this and it surprised me how much I like it. Two days ago my FMC broke up in bitter fury with the man she was in love with--a soldier in the Maquis during the liberation of France. Now she's just gotten word that his unit is headed north, which almost certainly means battle.
Headed north. She could see it all. She'd thought it would be the worst that could happen—for him to love her and die. She'd known nothing. She could see it now, everything burned to the ground. Her heart a charred ruin and his another; his body face-down in the road.
The little pictures he'd sewn for her hung on her curtain, the crimson accents on them bright as drops of blood. For two nights now she'd turned the light off almost before she was in bed to be rid of the sight. Too tired to dig in the sewing basket for her scissors, to cut them down, maybe slice them up in fury, the Maquis knight and his banner coming apart in shreds of red and black. She hated him. She wished she'd never known his name. God, don't let him die. I'm begging You. I'm begging You. Don't let him die.
Headed north. She could see it all. She'd thought it would be the worst that could happen—for him to love her and die. She'd known nothing. She could see it now, everything burned to the ground. Her heart a charred ruin and his another; his body face-down in the road.
The little pictures he'd sewn for her hung on her curtain, the crimson accents on them bright as drops of blood. For two nights now she'd turned the light off almost before she was in bed to be rid of the sight. Too tired to dig in the sewing basket for her scissors, to cut them down, maybe slice them up in fury, the Maquis knight and his banner coming apart in shreds of red and black. She hated him. She wished she'd never known his name. God, don't let him die. I'm begging You. I'm begging You. Don't let him die.