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Description
Fourteen
Her forehead is pressed against the bars in the staircase, her ears still ringing from the door that slammed a second or a millenia ago. A patch of the carpet over the steps is drenched by her tears, as her father screams even louder. Above, the warm August air catches the curtains that separate the balcony from the cooler room inside.

Eighteen
His whispers and hers, their shared embraces, all of them are shielded by this small garden in which they've found their fragile haven. She begs him never to go... And the September wind shakes the leaves above the couple cocooned on a bed of grass.

Nineteen
His absence is more cruel than ever. A robot, she carries on living, in the faint, ever-diminishing hope that he will return. She shudders whenever the gale abates, hearing to the distant sounds of fighting that tear this fragile October morning.

Twenty-three
He finally returned, and with him, a folded flag and a letter. As the first of the dirt hits the oak below, she falls to her knees, her father unable to catch her. She clutches the letter, preventing it from floating away in the gray November haze.

Twenty-five
Her white dress gleams faintly in the snow, an angel with her eyes staring beyond the grey sky. Her heart, ice-cold, had finished beating. Her father respected her last wish, to let her pass away where her beloved found his end. The letter, still against her breast, is caught and torn by the wind, and disappears. Only the last few words are still visible: "...to your father when I come back. In the meantime, have this, if you accept?". To her finger, a thin, golden ring is slowly covered in the December snow.

Description
Fourteen
Her forehead is pressed against the bars in the staircase, her ears still ringing from the door that slammed a second or a millenia ago. A patch of the carpet over the steps is drenched by her tears, as her father screams even louder. Above, the warm August air catches the curtains that separate the balcony from the cooler room inside.

Eighteen
His whispers and hers, their shared embraces, all of them are shielded by this small garden in which they've found their fragile haven. She begs him never to go... And the September wind shakes the leaves above the couple cocooned on a bed of grass.

Nineteen
His absence is more cruel than ever. A robot, she carries on living, in the faint, ever-diminishing hope that he will return. She shudders whenever the gale abates, hearing to the distant sounds of fighting that tear this fragile October morning.

Twenty-three
He finally returned, and with him, a folded flag and a letter. As the first of the dirt hits the oak below, she falls to her knees, her father unable to catch her. She clutches the letter, preventing it from floating away in the gray November haze.

Twenty-five
Her white dress gleams faintly in the snow, an angel with her eyes staring beyond the grey sky. Her heart, ice-cold, had finished beating. Her father respected her last wish, to let her pass away where her beloved found his end. The letter, still against her breast, is caught and torn by the wind, and disappears. Only the last few words are still visible: "...to your father when I come back. In the meantime, have this, if you accept?". To her finger, a thin, golden ring is slowly covered in the December snow.