autumnal truth | {sombra/mercy}

I know it's not the same
but I feel it anyway
tell me if that's okay
no, i'll be on my way

The sun began to set on one autumnal evening, and the colors, vibrant and inviting, were such liars. They were only deniers of the truth: it's the dying season. My mother said that every autumn, my tiny fingers drawing shapes on the window's condensation while she dipped an apple into a pot of melted caramel: "That's all that happens in autumn: things die."

To be fair, her mother died in the ides of October. She visited the grave every year with my dad, my brother, and me, but the only flower bouquets on sale were autumnal. Yellow roses, winter lilies: the colors of any good sunset were what ruined my mother of an entire season. Perhaps it was in defiance of her, or maybe I just happened to disagree, but I loved the fall. It was a reminder of rebirth, the bitter start of an otherwise beautiful cycle.

The latest of summer days were running their course, heat decreasing by the day. I had already started bringing a light jacket with me to training, because by the time I was finished, it was cold out. And the trees were beginning to face from green to orange, an odd shade of lime or yellow, and a strong enough gust of wind was always accompanied by the sound of those fallen from their trees being swept into piles along the sidewalks and streets.

I might have disagreed with my mother, but I wished I could see her just once, let her know that I loved her. That I remembered how hard this time of year was for her.

My boots stopped walking just short of a red leaf. I bent down to retrieve it, tucking it away safely into the cuff of my sweater before I entered a large, white brick building. To others, it was called an apartment complex. To us—

"Welcome back to Hell," Bree said as I passed her, and damn, was she right. Hardly seemed fair for her to call it that, though. At the end of the day, she got to go home to her parents. I had taught myself to cook since moving in, but most of us survived on microwaved food and precooked pastries. Still, I smiled at her and kept going.

When I reached the top floor, twelve doors sat closed. One of them was mine, decorated with an autumn wreath, but the others remained barren and unfriendly, one final way of telling passersby to keep walking.

It never worked on me, luckily.

My hand wrapped against the door of Sombra's apartment, and I smiled through the peephole when I heard her shuffle over.

"I got you a present!"

you say it's all alright
but you're not whose up at night
you'll probably say we tried
this feels like all a lie