Her outstretched hand trembled. It was palm up, facing the glorious midnight sky with all its stars shining brightly down upon her. Slowly blood trickled down her week fingertips and the silvery moonlight made them look just that much paler. You could see she was dying, but she was still willing to try. It was her perseverance that struck me and would remain with me for the rest of my life. Even as she was taking her last breaths, she was still trying to help me, still trying to save me.

It was mid-December that I first saw her, on a frigid afternoon. IT was only four o’clock, but it was already dark. The snow danced about my face in a flurry of excitement. Everywhere I went I always felt that icy breath of winter on my neck. I was chilled to the bone, but surrounded by beauty. I gazed upon the evergreen trees, their boughs carefully coated in snow. There were snowmen everywhere with their little carrot noses and coal mouths. I smiled softly to myself. I was walking down a little drive in a suburb close to mine when I saw her. She was a delicate flower dancing upon a lake of grace. Her poise and stature were perfect. It was moments after watching her that I realized she wore no mitts, hat or a scarf. In fact she only had on a tattered tweed jacket, probably two sizes too big. Her skates were practically antique, but she was gorgeous.

It would be several months before I ever spoke to, or even saw her again.

The vendor was giving me heck.

“Listen here, buddy, “ I said, letting my temper ease into my tone, “it says her twenty cents a pound!”

“Well, it’s wrong. Deal with it.”

I slammed the produce onto the counter, “No!” I exploded, and started reaming him out.

I’d probably been going at it for ten or fifteen minutes before I noticed she was there, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye, my voice trailed off and I forgot entirely about being angry. I didn’t even notice the vendor yelling back. I merely placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter and walked away, mesmerized.

She dabbled amongst the various stands, admiring exotic trinkets and fabrics, but not actually buying anything. I watched her from a distance as she made her way around the market. She was wearing a conservative black t-shirt that fit her figure nicely, unlike her baggy and pale jeans, which were most definitely not her size, but not entirely ugly. Her long satiny black hair fell in tender ringlets down her back and was jostled gently by the wind. From the angle I was standing I couldn’t see much more.

It was as she was examining a tiny golden elephant that I decided to say hello. I approached the stand with caution, completely nervous. I tried to be smooth, tripping over thin air, hoping to God that she didn’t notice me fall completely on my face… but she had.

It was amidst wishing that I was dead when I saw her outstretched hand. Shyly, I took it, hardly looking her in the face. I slowly stood, finally letting out eyes meet, wondering if the heat in my cheeks showed. Her eyes were grey, like a sea after a storm. I felt so entranced by them, lost in their depths. It seemed a love radiated out of them. Finally when we blinked, our gaze broke and I could examine her delicate face at a closer view. She had a smooth brow with two dark eyebrows that had strong arches. Her nose was cute and button-like, and her lips were luscious and lusty. Below them was her dainty chin, and wonderfully defined jaw. It was astounding. How could one girl be so beautiful?

I laughed nervously, “Heh… thanks.”

“No problem,” she said calmly. Her voice was refreshing.

“I’m sort, I’m a klutz.” I blushed.

“No,” she reassured, “It happens to me all the time.”

“I find that hard to believe, I saw how graceful you are on skates.” I risked the compliment.

She was modest and politely dismissed my compliment, but I wasn’t offended. “I’m Clara.” She stuck out her hand.

I shook it carefully and asked her if she wanted some company. She said yes, so we made a tour around the market together.

We quickly became close, and Clara often came over to my house to chat. She was the most magnificent person I had ever met. Dispute her obvious misfortune with money, she was still so kind and loving. She appreciated everything and was soft-spoken and levelheaded. I admired her. Whenever I was upset or lost my temper with someone or something she was always there to help me see the truth. IT wasn’t long before my love for her became a topic of discussion.

We were sitting on the old wooden swing on my front porch, hand in hand. The swing swung back and forth slowly as I watched our sometimes-dangling feet. My nerves were a wreck. I had never told anyone anything even similar to what I was about to tell her. How would I tell her that I couldn’t get her off my mind? How could I tell her that every breath of mine was dedicated to her? Panicked, I lo0oked up into her eyes. She looked so tender… so angelic and caring… My fears dissolved.

“I love you,” I blurted out.

She didn’t respond. Searching her face for some sort of sign, I watched one delicate tear roll down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, unsure of what I did wrong.

Oh God! I’d hurt her. She looked so sad… the tears were multiplying. She started to sob and I wrapped my arms around her racking body.

“Clara, I’m sorry! Please! Don’t be upset!”

I was lost. It took at least ten minutes to calm her down. Holding her fragile body close to mine made me feel so overwhelmed. I slid one hand under her chin and drew her face up towards mine. I looked deep into her eyes and then kissed her. IT was the most amazing kiss ever….and when she kissed me back I knew. I knew she loved me too.

After that we spent every day together, and eventually I noticed that we never went to her house. I wanted to meet her parents. I wanted to ask them if they were ok with my seeing their daughter. I wanted their approval.

Whenever I’d asked Clara about it, she’d dismiss it politely and casually in the was that she did and I came to understand that it was a sensitive subject. So I let it be for the time being.

The snow was beginning to fall. IT was November. The snow was a slender blanket upon the unused roads and stretches of grass. The weather had turned cold. Clara sported her worn tweed coat again this year. Again, the topic of meeting her parents came up. I’d never even seen her house.

So I approached the subject again and eventually she agreed. She invited me to supper that night. I went home and spiffed myself up: brushing my hair and teeth and putting on a nice sweater and new jeans. Nervous, I headed over to the address she had told me.

The house I came upon was rickety and the old white paint was peeling off the rotting wooden shingles. The screen door had no screen and the front door looked rough. I knocked on it carefully.

Clara answered. She looked a little upset, but mostly ok, so I assumed she was also nervous. I leaned forward to kiss her and she hugged me instead. Maybe she wanted to be polite to her parents, neither of whom had I seen yet.

She led me out of the foyer and into the hallway where picture slay in cracked frames and the walls were scuffed and ditty. The smell of the backing flood lingered amongst the dank smell of must.

We stopped in a dining room where the furniture was quaint and ugly. She sat me at a chair; the table was empty. Except for a yellowing and torn lace cloth, the utensils and cups. We were alone.

“Where are your parents?” I asked, confused.

“You’ll meet them in a minute.” She disappeared into what I assumed was a kitchen.

I sat there alone and awkward for some time until a slovenly, obese man staggered into the room with his stick-like companion, a zombie-like woman. I stood respectfully and stuck out my hand to shake his. The stench of poor hygiene and alcohol sickened me.

“Hello, Sir,” I said, “My name is Richard.”

He grunted discontentedly and allowed his large body to collapse into the adjacent chair. I feared its capsize.

After standing there like a fool for some moments, I sat down, feeling ashamed. Clara returned with a place of mangled poor chops. She also brought out mash potatoes and a meager place of stale bread. She looked so embarrassed. I smiled softly to her and hoped to reassure her. She smiled weakly back.

Her parents dug into the food immediately, while Clara and I took our time placing it upon our plates.

I coughed, “ Sir, I wanted you to know that I care very much for your daughter and that I would appreciate your approval on our dating.”

Suddenly, the overgrown monster stopped mid-shovel. Some of the mashed potatoes actually fell out of his mouth and past his drooling jaw. His eyes narrowed and he seemed overtake by a sort of anger. I think he stared at me for two solid minutes before grunting again and doubling his pace on devouring food. Clara’s mother didn’t say or eat anything. The whole experience was uncomfortable.

Clara apologized for ten minutes when supper was finally over; however, I assured her that it was all right. Still, that did not seem to offer her any solace. She seemed sort of concerned. I couldn’t sort it out.

Over the next few days I found it increasingly difficult to see Clara. Not because I didn’t try thought, she just was always busy, it seemed. So the following Thursday we met at the community park. WE were sitting on an old rickety bench in silence. I observed the blankets of white snow on bare branches. The park was vacant. The sings creaked slightly with the breeze. I had to say something.

“Look,” I said trying to express my concerns, “ I just want to know why, all of a sudden, you don’t have time for me?”

“That’s not true. I’m just busy.” Clara stated, avoiding my pained eyes.

“Before you came over almost every day, now you are constantly running errands or doing homework. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Clara…” I pleaded.

“Leave it alone.” She said sharply.

The sudden change of attitude struck me. I was hurt, offended.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“You!” She shouted, stomping off.

She wouldn’t answer my calls for weeks. Sadly to say, I cried myself to sleep every night and though my life was over. I ordered bouquets of roses and had them delivered to her house. I left heart-felt letters and boxes of chocolate at her doorsteps, but still, she did not respond.

Finally, one night, when the chill of winter seemed to have taken hold of the city and people stayed inside, huddled close to their fire places and hardly spoke a word to one another, she answered the phone.

“What is it,” She asked, “that you want, exactly?”

“What happened? I love you! I thought you loved me too.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” She seemed very upset.

“Because I won’t until you can tell me that you don’t love me.”

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be!” She choked.

“You do love me, then!”

“Please..” She begged in tears, “Please, don’t do this, please…”

“But I love you. I want to be with you. You asked me what I want and what I want is you. Why can’t we be together?!”

“Please, stop… I have to go… please…” Her words were barely audible through sobs.

“No, you can’t! Don’t go!” I tried to sound demanding, but it was more of a plea than anything else.

The next thing I heard was a loud, angry voice, heavy footsteps, her screaming and crying and then the tone of her disconnected phone. In complete shock, I stared vacantly at my bedroom wall, the phone still to my ear. What just happened?

Sudden panic took over as the pieces started to come together. Without wasting a moment, I grabbed my coat, flung it on, and raced out the door.

It was a good fifteen-minute run to Clara’s house. Running purely on adrenaline, it took me ten. I hoped it was quick enough.

Approaching the house, I could see the lights were on the front door still flung open. Without a plan, I raced inside. The place was a quiet disaster. Where there use to lay tattered frames now laid scattered fragments of glass and wood. Where there use to be scuffs in the walls, there were now large grooves and indents. I stood in the foyer trying to think of where to go first. Then I heard footsteps above me. I slowly crept partway up the curving staircase until I could glimpse the top floor without being seen. I saw two massive dirty leather sneakers down the hall. Trying to think of what to do, I came to the conclusion that I could draw the dangerous offender away from Clara, who I assumed was upstairs. I could hear the attacker trying to coax her out of hiding, occasionally adding in a twisted comment here and there about hurting her. I returned to the main floor and racked my brain for a solution, which came to me in the form of a diversion. I raced loudly across the first floor and slammed the front door loudly. Hearing the relatively speedy and heavy steps of the other, I quickly and quietly hid in the closet.

I held my breath as I heard him come down the stairs. I didn’t move an inch until I watched his shadow passed my doorway and Hear the front door open and close. I listened carefully until I was stratified he was gone, and as soon as I was, I dashed up the sitars and began calling Clara’s name softly.

I heard whimpering coming from a room at the end of the hall. The door was locked. I leaned in close.

“Clara, it’s me, Richard. Open the door, please.”

The whimpering burst into tears as the door opened slowly. There was Clara… black and blue. Her lip was busted and she had two black eyes. He beautiful satin hair was completely disheveled and her shirt was torn and half hanging. It was dampened by what I realized was blood. I could scarcely tell from where she was bleeding through all the mess, but was assured that she was by the pool of blood on the floor.

“Please! Help me!” she cried, immediately flinging herself upon me, smearing her blood on my jacket.

She attached herself to me completely; I hugged her close and reassured her that I would help her. With no time to spare, I threw open the nearest window and tried to judge the distance of the fall. I concluded that it was rather far and ripped apart the bed, taking its white sheet. I tied the sheet to a desk that was near the window; hopefully it would hold out weight. I threw the sheet out the window and helped Clara out. When she was safely on the ground I began my decent.

I was only half way there when I heard her try to stifle a shriek, “Richard!,” She cried in fear, “Hurry!”

Without hesitation, I threw myself to the ground. It was through blurry eyes of pain that I then saw the monster. I should have know from the start… I should have known that it was him. My legs pained with the fall. I didn’t know if I could even stand. The familiar stench of body odor and alcohol wafted towards us. Her father was approaching faster and I tried to stand without success.

When I was amongst thoughts of devastation I noticed Clara’s offered trembling hand. She looked terrified, but that was not the reason her face was so pale. Blood was streaming down her outstretched fingers. I could se she was within death’s grip, and I wanted to save her. I realized that I was foolish to even doubt that she loved me, for this alone proved that her feelings for me were genuine, because even as she was dying and I though I was trying to save her, she was really saving me.

I took her hand, it was damp with sweat and blood. IT was able to stand with her help and just in time because her psychotic knife-wielding father came at us. I looked around fervidly for a weapon and notices snow-covered lumber lying against their old shed some ten meters away. I, practically dragging Clara with me, ran towards the shed. I clutched one of the frigid boards in both chilled hands. The cold was slowing me down and with any luck, it’d slow him down too. He came at me rather quick for a man his size and I swung the board at him with all my might. IT snapped in two pieces and knocked him back slightly. He laughed cynically at my failure. Just my luck, I thought, IT was rotten to the core.

I had one choice left… to run. Looking at Clara, I knew she’d never make it, but I couldn’t leave her behind. I grabbed her limp body and put her on my back. Trying to hold onto her, I ran, not knowing where to.

I was blinded by the fallings now, but searching for a light. Surely someone would help us. I was starting to become drained of energy and Clara was slipping more and more. IT was becoming increasingly difficult to hold onto her and still the monster chased us. Finally I saw a lit window. I ran up to the doorway and pounded on it with my entire body.

I heard a voice through the wooden door and eventually it opened. I plowed over the little old cowman to whom it belonged and slammed it closed behind me, locking it. She was yelling and questioning me, but fell silent when she saw the condition of my perishing love. I ordered her to close and lock every window and door and demanded to use her phone. She followed my commands in fear.

9-1-1. I dialed it as fast as I Could. I Spat out the answers of the operator’s questions with as much speed as I could muster. “Listen! She’s dying!” I screamed, “He’s trying to kill us! You have to help us!”

The operator seemed to have no emotion. She remained calm and monotone and told me to bandage her wounds and wait for help to arrive. I hung up the phone.

I rushed over to Clara, her breathing was laboured. I knew she ambulance would never make it in time.

“Clara,,,” I called softly.

“I’m sorry…” she groaned, “He made me.”

“Shh… save your strength.”

I cradled her in my arms, searching for her wounds. I found many slash marks along her arms. I wanted to save her. I tried. I tried so hard.

“Clara, please don’t leave me, “ tears rolled silently down my reddened cheeks, “Please.”

“I… love you.” She sighed.

I clutched her limp body as close to me as I could and I knew that her last breath had escaped her precious body. She was gone, and there was nothing I could do….

I was alone.

The End.