Captured by the Moment (Gunner)
Anger. That is all I can feel sometimes when I look at her. It is not anger directed at her. No, I love her dearly. It is an anger at the world for having turned this once vibrant, loving young girl into this cold, empty shell. Her eyes no longer shine with optimism and hope. Instead, they reflect the once scene that has never left her mind. A scene of loss, a scene of death. She has not spoken a word since that dreadful day, but she does not need to for me to see into her thoughts. They are like mine in ways, only more organized, and less driven. They lack a feeling of joy, or a feeling of hatred. They only reveal the one truth that she now holds onto: that the world is a terrifying and cruel place.
She is still beautiful, but only in the same way that a painting is. She draws feelings out of you, but returns none of her own. How I wish that I could return the smile to her face, and the sparkle to her eyes. I cannot help her, however, as I cannot even help myself. Yet she still follows me, never questioning the actions that I take. I know in the past that she would have. I wonder why she doesn't now? Is it because she thinks this path that I am now on will be able to somehow save her? Or save me? Could she really be holding on to some hidden glimmer of hope? Sometimes when I glance over at her, I swear that I can see a faint smile gracing her pale lips. She never looks at me, though. Only past me. What could she be looking at? The past, in all likelihood. Yet maybe, just maybe, her eyes behold the future.
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