![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lived an Illusion, 200 words for Pieces, who wanted Jarod to meet the Angel of Death. This is not that, not really.
He leans back on the park bench; he watches kids taking turns on the slide, listens to shrieking children throwing sand, and wonders who he would have been, with Kyle, with Emily. He tilts his head back, the sun warm on his face, and when he closes his eyes imagines pushing a little girl on a swing, her brown hair bright in the sunlight, her grin wide.
There is a rustle beside him, and when he opens his eyes a woman looks back at him, her eyes dark but her smile open. He wonders that she isn't warm, her shoulders wrapped in black.
"I like it here," she says, turns back to the children.
Jarod leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. "It's nice," he says, reluctant to speak.
"No fear now, Jarod," she says, and his heart races, and though her smile is warm she is here, and she knows him. He looks around, worried. "I'm not them," she says, and he believes her.
"I should go," he says, though, still unsure.
She shrugs, and he leaps up.
"Suit yourself," she says. Breaks a cookie, offers half to the pigeon swaying with hunger by her feet.
He runs.
He leans back on the park bench; he watches kids taking turns on the slide, listens to shrieking children throwing sand, and wonders who he would have been, with Kyle, with Emily. He tilts his head back, the sun warm on his face, and when he closes his eyes imagines pushing a little girl on a swing, her brown hair bright in the sunlight, her grin wide.
There is a rustle beside him, and when he opens his eyes a woman looks back at him, her eyes dark but her smile open. He wonders that she isn't warm, her shoulders wrapped in black.
"I like it here," she says, turns back to the children.
Jarod leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. "It's nice," he says, reluctant to speak.
"No fear now, Jarod," she says, and his heart races, and though her smile is warm she is here, and she knows him. He looks around, worried. "I'm not them," she says, and he believes her.
"I should go," he says, though, still unsure.
She shrugs, and he leaps up.
"Suit yourself," she says. Breaks a cookie, offers half to the pigeon swaying with hunger by her feet.
He runs.
