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NAME: FRAIL
This is the beginning of a short story. I've split it into two parts, the first of which is about 500 words, if you don't read on, please give me some comments on the first part anyhow. I really need some critique here, and I'm unsure about the POV Thanks a lot:)
Bruce squinted as he peered at Maria. Her profile was so different from the chubby girl he remembered from childhood. She looked paler and her cheekbones formed a hallow arch. Her eyes searched the valley to their feet, but she looked distant.
A cloud slid across the sun, and his face relaxed. He looked at her lips that parted as she took a piece of fruit from the basket. She ate slowly, picking out the seeds. “Strawberry...of course,” he thought.
“Why are you smiling?” Maria asked, her eyes fluttering like the frail wings of a butterfly in autumn.
“It´s nothing,” he said quietly. He would have taken an apple, something more substantial, but then he was a man.
A soft breeze blew though the grass, and he could hear a bird call somewhere, behind the trees. She took the last bite, and reached for another.
“Let´s go,” he said. He did not want to see her pick out all those seeds. Not with her shaking hands.
She pulled away, and touched her hair. Golden locks fell along her back like small waves. Her eyes were not blue, neither were they grey or green. Perhaps something in-between, and there were golden rings around her irises.
Maria wore a light blue dress, that was held together by a large white belt around her waist. Her feet barely touched the ground as she walked towards a young birch. She reached out her lean arm and steadied herself against the tree. Then she sat down in the grass and pulled off a sandal.
“We’ve gotta go,” Bruce said, again.
She looked up at him, reached for her shoe and carefully put it back on. He leaned towards her and their hands met. Her touch was frail and his grip tightened, when he helped her up.
A moment later he fiddled with her saddle and wondered if he should help her mount. She held her head high when she gestured for him to step aside. His eyes were glued on her slender waist and her chest that rose and fell with every breath she took.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, raising her voice against the wind.
“I’m not sure. Guess I’m trying to figure out what’s changed.”
“It’s only been four years,” Maria said, her eyes flashing in his direction.
“Yeah but, you were a kid last time I saw you.”
“Hey! I was taller than you remember?” Her tone was teasing, and strangely familiar.
“Well you’re not anymore,” he said with a smirk, remembering how they had used to race, and how she had always jumped the last fence before him.
The horses went into a gallop and her hands slacken around the straps. Her face looked calm, and her eyes focused.
SECOND PART (POV CHANGE)
Maria had been surprised at her happiness upon seeing Bruce and aunt Margaret at the station that morning. Just like always, Bruce and her had gone for a ride and a picnic. She had almost forgotten him while she was away. America had been so new, and then she had met John. The horse sped beneath her, she felt faint, but she liked the feeling.
Maria turned to look at Bruce. He had grown tall, and she thought him quite handsome. What she liked most about him was that he looked so different from John. Bruce had large hands, a prominent nose and dark hair, while John was fair and refined.
“He was also weak,” she said to herself.
“Who?” Bruce’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud.
“Oh...noone”
“Who’s weak?” He paused and added; “You used to tell me everything remember?”
“Well if you really must know there was this guy in the U.S. ...John.”
“Want me t’ beat him up for you?” She knew it was a joke, but she didn’t laugh. Bruce gave her a long, questioning gaze.
The old farmhouse quickly came into view. Soon she could see the garden and the white paint that had come off in spots, revealing the cold stone. They brought the horses to a halt. Bruce dismounted and held out his hand. As their eyes met he asked “What happened?”
Maria threw her left leg across the saddle, self-conscious of her short skirt. She held his hand and jumped down, landing on the ground next to him.
“We were gonna marry.”
“Yeah but we were kinda young,” Bruce said, looking surprised.
“Not us,” she said laughing. “Me and John...anyway this other girl came along.” Bruce darted his eyes at the ground, and shuffled his feet.
“Right, you and John...what’s she got that you don’t?” Maria reached out to stroke his cheek, but he suddenly seemed too tall, and she let her hand drop.
“She’s older than me, very beautiful and...well rich”
“Oh,” he said quietly.
Maria walked up the old pave stones, towards her aunts house. She had come here every summer as long as she could remember. Aunt Margaret had adopted Bruce when he was a baby, because she couldn’t have kids of her own. Maria’s parents had usually stayed in the city during the summer, and she had felt incredibly free out here.
Four years ago her father had accepted a job in the United States, and the family had moved. Maria had turned eighteen this year and her mother had practically ordered her to go for a vacation in England. It was supposed to be a break from reality and thoughts about John.
Margaret opened the door and drowned Maria in a hug. Everything about Margaret was soft, large, and warm. She had intelligent eyes and flushed cheeks. When she read a novel, she cried more than anyone else Maria knew.
“Yer just in time fer dinner,” Margaret said.
On entering Maria was overcome by a wave of nausea at the smell of fried meat.
“Mom, it smells delicious!” Bruce called out, as he threw his jacket on a couch. Everything in the house was somewhat old fashioned. The furniture was made of heavy wood painted green, blue and red. There was a large white fireplace guarded by golden lions. Even though the sun shone outside, this room was never quite lit.
The three of them sat down around the small kitchen table. Maria looked at the empty chair; it had been her uncle’s before he died. Margaret followed her gaze, but said nothing. They bent their heads in a brief prayer and Bruce started serving. Maria watched the steam that evaporated from her plate and sipped her water.
While Bruce finished his portion, Maria only pushed the potatoes around her plate. She didn’t feel like eating.
“What’s the matter don’t ye feel well?” Margaret asked, and Maria read concern in her piercing blue eyes.
“I’m fine; just not that hungry,” Maria said, forcing small bite into her mouth.
“But honey, its yer favorite! If ye tell me what ye’ve been eating in America, I’ll make it fer yer tomorrow.” Maria felt ashamed, but the nausea wouldn’t go away.
“Mom your food’s great. I’m sure Maria’s just not that hungry.” Bruce said, a crease knotting his brow. She knew that look. His eyes searched her plate, as though looking for an answer there.
Maria, avoiding his gaze, chewed on an undiminishing piece of meat meat, fighting the urge to spit it out.
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