“The girl, standing in the exact wrong place at the back of her truck, looked up, bewildered by the sound of the screeching tires. She looked straight into my horror-struck eyes, and then turned to watch her approaching death. Not her! The words shouted in my head as if they belonged to someone else.”
I vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he’d glared at me — the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and his auburn hair. Today, his eyes were a completely different color: a strange ocher, darker than butterscotch, but with the same golden tone.
The meadow was small, perfectly round, and filled with wildflowers — violet, yellow, and soft white. Somewhere nearby, I could hear the bubbling music of a stream. The sun was directly overhead, filling the circle with a haze of buttery sunshine.