Her (The Final)
He is facing her, with his arms open. The wind from the Irish shore blows his unkempt hair. His nose, reddish, is starting to shine, the thickness of his clothes not handling the cold and humid weather well. His eyes are teary; hers are not.
She is walking towards him, and reaching for his wide and strong chest. The sky is grey, a typical grey of the Irish coasts. She touches his warm and welcoming chest with her tiny and cold hands. She loves the feeling; she feels protected. She also feels physically attracted and sexually aroused. Her face is impassive, her body stoic, but she is still showing an extreme confidence.
She slowly lets her head rest on his chest. She can hear his heartbeat clearly. One... Two... Three... And this when she decides to push.
He doesn’t fight it. Maybe because he doesn’t expect it at all, or maybe the opposite. His hair is now blowing in front of his face, while his body is taking the shape of half a circle. It looks like he’s flying backwards. For a second he’s still at the level of the land, but soon enough he’s under, and then he knows that it’s the end of him.
He sees her face, her eyes. She stares at him deeply, still with no tears, and no fear. No emotions. No guilt. No revenge happiness. Nothing.
Her face becomes quickly smaller and smaller. His ears are filled with the sound of the wind. His back feels slightly held by some magical power. Strangely, he is peaceful. He always thought that on his final days he would be scared, and hurt. Nothing of this is happening now. Although he is certain of the outcome.
Her head has disappeared now. The sky is grey. The rain starts sprinkling.
A flock of bird is circling on top of them.