Audrey Heffenberg propped herself underneath a refreshing, shadowy tree that sprouted leaves in the shade of broccoli. Her wide cerulean eyes grew twice its size as she pored over the milky paper that lay rumpled in her equally milky hands. As each word crossed her path, fragmented thoughts swarmed through her mind. Her eyes were like tether balls being punched and twisted around a metallic pole.
Why had Milo, after four years had past since she left her husband to start an audacious life in Paris, decided to write a heartfelt, yet caustic letter to her? In Audrey's opinion, it was all rather bizarre. One minute, the dapper, wolf-eyed man was professing his feelings, the next he inquired if she desired a divorce. That word made her skin crawl, her face scrunch, and her eyes shudder. She so desperately did not want think of the situation, so she manipulated herself to divert her attention elsewhere. In an instant, her mind slid an image of Hank into view. Hank, with his soulful asparagus eyes and his suave jet black hair that showed hints at his age, which is 35, was the precedent of a downright compassionate being, at least in the eyes of Miss Heffenberg.
It was the seventh night Audrey was in Paris. For some peculiar reason, Hank enjoyed lounging around in cafes at obscenely late hours, munching on chocolate croissants and contemplating on what the "true meaning of life" was. He'd babbled about his once swanky life in London as an executive for some prestigious , but went to live in Paris to become an artist as Audrey reluctantly served him mug after mug of Colombian coffee. Eyeroll after eyeroll, she feared he'd never leave. Audrey glanced outside of the French windows as she messily placed her mahogany hair atop her head and secured it with an elastic. The stars were shining like diamonds, she noticed. How much more precious the sky looked in Paris than back in New York City.
"What do you want out of life?" Hank asked, interrupting Audrey's mesmerization of the midnight sky.
"You know," Audrey bit her lip. "I never gave it much thought."
"Oh that's posh," he replied. "You must've!"
Audrey only shook her head softly and began to scrub the crumby mess Hank's chocolate croissant was excreting onto the tickle-me-pink counter, whose paint was chipping to reveal spots of naked wood.
It was silent for ten minutes or so, until the two heard a panicked scream erupt down the block. It was followed by the sound of bullets piercing the antique shops and blood splattering on the window's of Audrey's cafe. Terror filled both of their eyes as they realized that the Nazis finally arrived.
"We have to leave," Hank whispered urgently. "Now."
He grabbed Audrey's twiggy arm. It felt warm and comforting against her quivering skin. They managed to escape out of the cafe. But it was only for a few blocks that they managed to go unseen by the Nazis. When the haughty Germans caught sight of them bullets came rocketing towards them, but their speed deflected them. Suddenly, Audrey lagged behind Hank and the odor of iron trickled into her nose as she felt a refreshingly warm liquid swam down to her ankles. She moaned in pain, but Hank yelled at her, telling her she just had to run. They finally managed to escape into a forest. For two days, without any sustenance or water, they stumbled upon a militia: The French Resistance. The two hastily joined in its cause to drive the Germans out of their nation. Since that day, Hank and Audrey were simply inseparable.
Audrey longed to spend the rest of her life with Hank in a lavish penthouse in Paris. But of course, coming from such a noble background, she was all too aware of his current penury. Back in New York, however, Milo was the most lavish business executive on the East Coast. But with that financial security came his bland personality and mundane lifestyle. Her mind and soul were once again combatting ferociously, just as she and her militia were only hours ago.
As Audrey carefully slipped the letter in a pocket, a rustling noise came from the bushes. The noise prompted her to pick up and cock the gun in her hand. She aimed the silvery weapon at the bushes. The figure finally appeared and she lowered her gun and rolled her eyes.
"Jesus Christ Paul!" Audrey seethed. "You were almost near dead! Don't you know you never creep on someone armed and cautious?"
Paul was a fellow member of the French Resistance. He was a gangly man of about twenty four or so with blonde hair that Audrey envied. Paul's eyes were bloodshot and dried tears were visible on the apples of his tanned cheeks. His thin lips quivered as his eyebrows furrowed in fear.
"Jesus Paul, you looked like you saw Al Capone himself!" Audrey muttered. "What's eatin' ya sport?"
Paul and Audrey stood face to face for literally six minutes. Paul attempted to speak, but his lips were zipped tight.
"Jesus, now you're scaring me Paul, what is it?"
Suddenly his mouth opened.
"The Nazis," He staggered. "They. Captured. Him. Hank."
Audrey didn't say a word. Couldn't perhaps is a better word, as she had no idea how to react to this. Her mind instantly went blank and her eyes trickled down a hint of water.
Without saying a word, Audrey reached into her pocket and grabbed the letter and shredded it into a billion pieces that landed atop Audrey's head. She slung her leather bookbag across her left shoulder and cocked her gun once more. Step by Step, her footsteps pounded the Earth in intensity and fear as she went on to find Hank.