The sweet plucking's of guitar notes filled the air, encasing the room with warmth. Golden light spilled onto the wooden floor of the kitchen from an open window, casting shadows of the dancing leaves outside. Birds called outside along with wind chimes, adding harmonies to the melody of the guitar. A woman's hand danced smoothly against its strings, her brown wavy hair falling down against its body where a name was engraved into the wood; Siena. Her face was adorned with freckles and a gentle smile kissed her face. 

Another woman gently hummed along to the tune in the kitchen, as she filled a kettle with water from the sink. The golden light made her hazel eyes glow and lit her hair an amber brown as it flew down her back in a braid. Against her face was a scar that ran down the side of her temple. She shut off the faucet and moved the kettle to the stove behind her, placing it down with a clank. She then turned the stove knob which echoed a click click click into the air until fire lit up underneath the kettle. With a small turn she faced Siena as she played the guitar and a look of adoration warmed her face. They stayed like that, stuck in the gentle blessing of the morning, soaking in the presence of each other for a couple moments. After a while Siena looked up locking eyes with the other and stopped her playing, letting out a laugh. 

“Well don’t stop playing!” The hazel eyed woman marveled. The other let out an even louder laugh.

“I can’t play forever Hazel! Who do you think I am?” She replied, a sparkle in her eye. She rested her arms on top of the guitar and rested her chin on them. 

“Yes you can.” Hazel argued, turning to open a cabinet over the counter. 

“You wish.” They fell into a comfortable silence, Hazel then brought out two mugs and placed them on the counter. Squatting down, she opened the cabinet under the stove. 

“Are you in a camomile or green tea mood?” she asked, brushing strands of hair away from her face that had fallen from her braid. The other hummed, considering her options before answering.

“Green.” She then turned her attention back to her guitar and started plucking a random tune. Hazel hummed in response, grabbing two tea bags out from the cabinet. She stood up and placed one each in the mugs. One was chipped and had a picture of two young girls both grinning widely and hugging each other tightly, both missing a few teeth. One had a purple scar on her temple and the other had a matching purple marker line on the opposite side of her head. 

Hazel remembered that day fondly. She had been crying outside at recess, sitting under a tree. Some other kids had pointed at her newly marked temple and called it ugly, saying she’d never find anyone to love her with that scar. It felt as if they had torn through her skin to get to her heart and tear it out before throwing it on the ground and shattering it. While she was crying underneath the tree, a girl had approached her and knelt down beside her, picking up the broken shards of her heart. She asked what happened, and after stumbling through an explanation with shuttered breaths, the girl said,

“Well I think your scar is beautiful!” After going inside, the new girl grabbed a purple marker and drew a mark on her temple, “Now we match!” They then spent the whole day together and when her mother came to pick her up, Hazel ran up to her dragging along her new friend and begging for a picture. Years later, Siena had given her the mug for her sixteenth birthday and it had been used almost everyday since then. 

Hazel smiled fondly at the mug, before the kettle let out a quiet whistle, drawing her out from her daydream. She seamlessly picked up the kettle and filled both mugs before carrying them both over to her friend on the ground as she had done millions of times before. Sitting down, she slid one mug over to the other. They sat without talking to each other, just listening to the gentle music filling the air along with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and bird calls. Hazel occasionally sipping down tea, the taste earthy and warm. It was serene. Peaceful. Like the gentle waves of a river washing up on shore. The silence was suddenly broken as Siena looked up.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Siena gently murmured. Hazel blinked, confused. 

She asked, “Doing what?” She took a sip from her mug, flicking her gaze from the others eyes to the wall behind her, tracing the cracks. 

“You know I’m not really here.” Siena said with a gentle gaze.

The other’s face twisted in confusion, “Yes you are, you’re in front of me.” Her gaze traced the freckles on Sienas face, trying to memorize every detail. They reminded her of a map of constellations. 

Siena reached out her hands and cupped Hazel’s face, gently rubbing her thumbs up and down.

“It’s okay to let go,” she reassured, “I won’t be mad.” 

Hazel’s cheeks suddenly felt wet. In her peripheral vision she spotted a tear rolling down from her eyes.

“Why am I crying?” she whispered. “Why am I crying?” she asked again louder, her voice cracking, chest growing tight. Siena tilted her head in a knowing gaze. 

“You know why,” The light outside dimmed, clouds slowly rolling in. The room suddenly felt cold. Hazel dropped her head and shook it, tears flowing faster, biting her cheek. 

She whispered, “No.” 

“It’s okay.”

“No.”

“ Sweetheart, It will be okay.”

“No, no, no!”

“We will meet again.”

“No, no, NO!” she sobbed. The freckled girl placed her guitar beside her before wrapping her arms around the other, one cradling her head, the other wrapped around her back. “It’s not fair!” Hazel sobbed. 

“I love you.” the freckled girl whispered into her ear. Sobs took a hold of the other's chest, clawing their way out of her mouth. Her heart was being squeezed in a painful grip, making her whole chest ache. “I will always love you,” Siena murmured.

The feeling of arms wrapping her body slowly disappeared along with the rest of the warmth in the room. Just as her hands had felt that day; Cold and lifeless.

She curled in on herself, feeling nausea pooling in her stomach threatening to come up at any moment. Her sobs echoed into the empty corners of the house. When she mustered enough courage she looked up, shaking, gaze met with a worn guitar resting against the wall and a mug with a chipped rim, the picture of two girls smiling up at her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed down bile, and whispered into the air, “I miss you.”

A wall of heat blasted against the little boy's face from the flames licking up the buildings all around. His hands shook as he pressed down on his mothers blood soaked shirt. Tears slid down his cheeks and hiccups came up from his throat as he looked around for any sign of help. He swallowed a sob, trying to keep quiet knowing that danger was still near. His knees were scraped and dripping blood against the asphalt of the street, soaking into his shoes, but it was nothing compared to his blood stained arms from his mothers chest. He pressed harder and knelt down to put his head on her chest, searching for the gentle thump of a heartbeat he always heard each night as she cradled him to sleep. As he was praying for a sign of life he whispered into her shoulder, “Come on mama, I know you're strong, please” He waited a few painful seconds that turned into a minute, each second draining hope from his small beating heart. It was a pain he had never felt before, stabbing him in his chest and crushing his ribs. The pain pushed against his lungs forcing a strained cry out of his throat as he gripped her shirt. Suddenly the pain got pushed to the back of his brain when voices echoed off of the brick walls surrounding him and reached his ears. He straightened up, suddenly remembering the danger that seemed to be closing in on him. He got to his feet with a stumble and looked around, searching for a spot to hide before remembering his mothers body below him, splayed out on the street. He snatched her wrist trying to pull her body to a nearby alley way away from the fire and voices, only managing to pull her a foot before the sleeve of her shirt ripped off into his hands. Voices seemed to be approaching faster and the boy looked toward its direction, terror written on his face. He scrambled to grab his mother by the upper body and drag her faster, but his body shook with the effort and eventually his grip slipped and he fell backwards, scraping his calf. The realization came to the boy that it would only be mere seconds before the voices would turn the corner onto the street and find him and his mother. He looked down at the now pale face of the women who had cared and loved him for five years and his heart shattered, embedding shards of glass in his chest. He knelt down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, cradling her head in his arms. “I’m sorry”, he whispered, only meant for the ears of his mother. Giving her one last hug, he stumbles up and runs to the secure darkness of the alleyway. The shadows encompassed his body, embracing him in a cold hug.