One by one, the mourners leave, as the last rays of red sun filter out into the crisp emptiness of an autumn night. A young woman remains, hunched over herself, cradling her candle to her chest like something precious she is reluctant to abandon.
Her hair, short and honey-blond, stretches back into a tight ponytail from which loose strands, too short to hold into the hair-band, keep escaping. At intervals, her hand snaps to pull them back behind her ears, the movement rigid and reflective, as though batting away a fly. The collar of her jacket, a large, padded jet black thing that seems to swallow her shape, flaps in the cold breeze like the wings of a carrion bird. She seems young, twenty at the very most.
Milly approaches her before she realises she's doing so, hand outstretched as if to say something -do something to make it better -what a silly thought. This isn't the first time she's done something like this lately- not even the first time today. Last year was difficult for everyone, and for the inhabitants of Star City, today is a day of remembrance. Milly is angry, and sad, and tired of being on her feet all day. But the woman curls around herself like a rolly polly, and everybody else is gone, and this is a memorial for murdered highschoolers. So Milly swallows her spit and walks up to the candlelight.
Her presence goes acknowledge, not in sound nor movement but in the flickering of sharp eyes like a bowstring snapping back. They're wide, deep pools of dark honey that melt golden in the candlelight, pierced at the center by two pulsating drops of ink.
"I'm sorry for your loss", she says, just to say something, to not leave her alone with her thoughts.
"My loss", she repeats, voice slow and empty like she's testing the words out. Slowly, she extends a hand in the dancing shadows cast by the candles, considers it. It's calloused, the fingernails trimmed almost too close to the flesh, the ghost of a bruise still lingering on her knuckes.
"Yes, I'm so sorry. I can't imagine..."
The young woman hums, perhaps in agreement, perhaps because it is polite to respond.
"Some of them... Not as much as I... Well, you know how it is. Classmates an' all that."
She scrunches her nose, points at one of the pictures with a trembling finger.
"That one was a real jerk though. Like a human parakeet. Not gonna miss him much."
Another picture, the movement of something across her face, too fast for the eye to catch.
"I really liked that teacher though, she was nice. She always let us watch movies."
This teacher was one of the first people to be killed, if her memory serves right. So young, and to witness such senseless violence... She wonders how many people she saw die, before she could even graduate.
"Fucking costumed freaks", she spits out. Unexpectedly, the woman snorts.
"It's getting late, lady. You waiting for someone to pick you up ?"
Milly is the one who should be asking this question -it's not safe, out there, and the woman is so young...
"I'm okay, I got my car right by. Are you- nevermind. Do you need help?"
"Do you need help to put it with the others?"
The question is absurd, really -the candle is light as a feather, flame high and steady, and the installation is nothing complicated -there's a little slot, right at arm's length, where she can put it in. But it is getting late, and she'll have to leave soon, and she doesn't want the woman to still be there when the rising wind blows her little fire out.
Do you need help letting go?
The woman turns, pressing the candle against her chest, weighs onto her those gleaming eyes. A hairstrand falls across her face like cracked crystal over a reflection- then another, and another one. The little ponytail is barely hanging on. She doesn't pull them back.
"No, thanks lady. You go home before you catch yourself a cold. I think I've got it figured out."
Milly swallows, looks for anything she can say to prolongate the conversation after such clear dismissal, to not leave her alone there- she finds none.
"Alright there", she mutters, fretting with the buttons of her coat, "you take care, then, lovey. Don't go catching something bad yourself staying late."
She doesn't say anything.
Milly drives away then, slowly, throwing glances in the rearview mirror at the dark silhouette standing in the flickering light.
The car takes a turn into another street. The woman disappears from her sight.
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