By God, I'm not in love. It's just joy at seeing her again after all these lifetimes. Or is it indeed love? One wonders
n 1745, I was a redcoat. I was a private soldier, fresh from the parade grounds, and one who was exceedingly philosopical and wise about life, if not naive concerning war. This being because, although I like to think of myself as a relatively old soul, I doubt I had fought in a major battle since the Crusades.
Regardless, we were in Flanders. There was, at this time, an exceedingly pretty flower of a camp follower, one married to a friend of mine, a tall man with a pipe perpetually in his mouth. He was killed by some disease, probably cholera, and, as was custom she remarried. I had lusted after her for a long while, and she knew me well as a result of her husband's friendship with me, so it was arranged between us that we should marry. Now, for her, I was no doubt the second in a long line of soldiers, but to me, it was the happiest experience of that life. Our marriage was sealed with myself giving her a ribbon I had found in some bivouac weeks previous. She always wore a bow in her hair. She tied it into her hair, there was a kiss, and the marriage was sealed. Without going into much detail an enjoyable time was had around the campfire with a pipe, a wife, and the company of fellow soldiers, and the nights were warm 'neath the deluge of the Flanders skies. Unfortunately, within the next few days, we were drawn up in lines of battle and sent charging towards the French fortifications at the Battle of Fontenoy. Early on in said battle, I had both legs carried away by grapeshot, and died screaming as my life's blood pumped out onto the cold, muddy ground. Needless to say, I never saw her again.
One can walk by a certain person almost daily, perhaps admiring their clothes, lusting after their figure, or even speaking to them. But they never really, truly notice them on a deeper level. But all that can change with a touch and a glimpse into the other's eyes.
Now, for the last two weeks, I have had a very pretty blue and white gigham ribbon in my room. I don't know why, perhaps it was a coincidence, but today I decided to take it with me. Now, the bell rings for lunch (college students will laugh at this point) and I dart out of the Theatre Building, buy lunch, and wolf it down. As I walk the hallways toward the history building (where I spend lunch harrassing the teachers) I came upon a new acquaintance of mine, a female with the strange name of Ryan. She hangs out with a group of people who I am friends with, and occassionally eat lunch with. I've spoken with her, but never really talked to her or looked at her. But the times I did, I would be struck by her looks, not the conventional blonde bombshell looks, but the tall, thin, pale looks I've always preferred. So, back to the hallways. I walk past her, and suddenly my head resonates like a bell has been rung in it.
Matt: Wait! Ryan! I have something for you *digs in pocket and finds ribbon, holds it out*
Ryan: A bow! For me? Thanks *looks extremely happy and flattered as she takes bow and ties it in her hair*
*eye contact is made*
Matt: It...suits you.
Ryan: I know, I've always worn bows in my hair. By the way, what middle school did you go too?
Matt: Sierra Canyon, why?
Ryan: Oh, you just have always looked familiar. But I've never heard of Sierra Canyon. Anyway, I have to go to the library. See you later!
And, horribly cliche and sappy as it may seem, tears sprung to my eyes and I remembered her.
For the rest of the day, I thought of her.
And now my legs hurt.
Bloody Hell, I can't be in love with her again