Infected Sores On Stomach

Dragonfly Diary (7 / 7)

Title: Dragonfly Diary
Author: cuddlymicch
Fandom: Original
Character / Couple: Lueur d'Espoir / Hans Heidenreich
Rating: PG13
Prompt: " I cried for you on the kitchen floor "
Word Count : 582
Notes: / /
Disclaimer: The main story where the characters are drawn was completely invented by me. Were not used characters / locations / events that are not the result of my collective imagination, except for the historical background to which I was inspired.
Table: Here


Berlin, July 18, 1943
It's your birthday. How old do you do? Essertene seems almost forgotten. Twenty-two, I think.
And to think that when you arrived in Berlin I had only nineteen! You were still a child.
Use the last page of my notebook, to write what my heart (because you can understand what you looking at my face), but to give this day a yellow card on the old coffee-stained notebook. There are all
this morning. John went out to buy something while you were asleep again to celebrate (it managed to sell his gold watch for a bottle of champagne!), while Gabriel has bent all the pages of that newspaper was able to find, making hats. Timothy's has been the master, these days, is now even better than him!
About Timothy! Today is going to take the refuge of Mary Berger, seems to be here with us for a while '.
After celebrating with champagne, while everyone was still trying to tell of past adventures, you smiled at me, getting up on their feet. You gave me a kiss on the forehead, taking her hands, and you ran upstairs.
I followed you without delay, crossing the rickety spiral staircase, to the first apartment on the third floor ... ours.
lived here before the war and, believe it or not, is still around as we left the shelter before moving.
A narrow corridor, left the bathroom, the bedroom where we slept together where we made love, the old mirror, the room of Timothy and Gabriel, with that old bunk bed of rusty iron everything.
And then, behind the shelf, the kitchen with round table covered by red checkered tablecloth, dusty. The vase of red carnations on the ground, smashed, flowers are rotting.
You were there, standing on the balcony, covered all the tents torn. You looked at me with those hazel eyes full of your sadness behind your thin profile in the rubble of what once was a small district of Berlin.
I think our condo is the only one still standing, you know?
"When the war is over we will return to live here, right?"
Those words, uttered in the sweetness that only you can put in the melancholy of your voice, they made me fall on my knees on the tiles with white and yellow.
As a child I collapsed to the ground, covering his face with his gloved hands. And for the first time I cried. I cried for you on the kitchen floor , I cried for the girl who smiles and extends his hand to me as a murderess.
I promise you, my love, one day soon we will return to live in that apartment too small for our family. We are not just you and me, there are John, Timothy, little Gabriel, Ivan could even ...

"Hans, we are ready!"
The soldier raises his head from his desk, looking up the door, where his wife's smiling, waving his hand.
He gets up, puts down the pen and closed the notebook with an elastic skin.
"I'm coming!"
comes out in the garden, in the light of sun, which finally is back to shine. The neighborhood was destroyed by bombs, but the lawn of the park outside the home is so determined to stay green. After all, green is the color of hope, no?
Hans smiles, puts down the notebook to the ground.
"One, two, three!"
The notebook and the soldier looks at burning go away.
"Ah," makes the girl taking the hand of her husband. "What were you writing?"
He smiles at her, watching the flames reflected in her hazel eyes. Sigh. "Nothing important, the same old thing."