Welcome to Short Story Sunday. I’m so happy to feature this story from 17-year-old author Adelia Hoff. Thank you so much Adelia. This is a real treat.
by Adelia Hoff
The black haired male saw her light. The white haired female saw his silhouette. His red eyes darted over her small campsite. Her blue eyes issued an unspoken challenge.
“May I join you?”
“Please do. It’s been a while since anyone has.”
He moved over, sitting opposite of her.
“Your face seems familiar. Have we met?”
“I . . . don’t think so.”
They both knew this was a lie. They knew who the other was, yet they kept up this mask of familiar newness. The silence was comfortable. The male caught her eye with a soft smile.
“If it’s not too rude, why are you here?”
She returned the smile.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Heh, so am I. What’re the odds of that?”
She grinned, laughed slightly, and adjusted her hairband. He fiddled with the hair tie obscured by his high collar. They knew they should confront each other, take revenge, but they continued with the act of strangerdom. Neither said anything, fearing speech would shatter the illusion. He was sad, remembering the days when it didn’t take lies to bring them together. She was happy, remembering how long is had been since they were close.
“How long has it been?”
“Since you saw the person you’re looking for.”
He shrugged, a look of indifference crossing his face.
“Stopped counting a while back.”
They both knew this was a lie. They counted every year, month, day, hour, minute, second since each fight, each new parting of ways. He pursued her, they fought, she fled. They loved to hate each other.
“It’s rather nice here.”
She looked around, making no move to answer for a few seconds.
He looked at the moon, at its position in the sky.
“It’s late, I should go. Thanks for letting me stay.”
“It wasn’t any trouble. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned away and walked, transforming back into a silhouette. As he drew farther away, the masks began to fall off. She took out her hairband, freeing shoulder length hair. He took off his hair tie, short hair falling to frame his face. She pulled bundled cloth out of her shirt front, becoming male. He unclipped a band from under his shirt, becoming female. The black haired female lost sight of his light. The white haired male lost sight of her silhouette. Despite all this, a single question remains:
Which persona is the charade?
Short Story Sunday at Vampiremaman.com