Young Apocolyptic Love
You hold the hand of your new wife, looking up through the haze trying to catch a glimpse of the stars.
You gave her a ring you found on a corpse half covered with debris. It is far too large for her finger, and she makes a fist to keep it from falling off.
Most newlyweds around the world spend this first night differently, but not the orphans of the siege. Both of you lost your parents in the shelling and bombing of the city several years back. Carnal matters are far from the minds of both of you, as they are the luxury of those who do not sleep in rubble, skin pocked with signs of malnutrition and plagued by deep and damp coughs.
Besides both of you know the stories, taking your clothes off is the first step towards your clothes being stolen.
So you both gaze up into the night, wondering if tonight will be the night a shell will fall on the building where you sleep, and both of you take solace in the fact that if it does, you won't be leaving this world alone and unnoticed, but as husband and wife.
As the dawn creeps over the fractured skyline, you both still lie awake, wondering who will be the first to free their hand from the other. Luckily a nearby blast breaks the tension and the hands fly apart from each other, as if exploding themselves.
The morning is awkward. The union, whose purpose seemed so clear in the night time now seems positively embarrassing. There is a moment of horror as it seems as if she might be taking off the ring to give back to you. But instead she slips it off her finger and into her pocket.
"I better go", she says.
"Yeah", you say.
She walks slowly away, picking her way through the uneven ground.
"Seeya tonight?", you blurt, the naked desperation of it already reddening your ears.
"Yeah", she says with a small smile, before leaping down and out of sight.
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