Endgame

The autumn leaves were falling, a mixture of browns and reds.

The two of them stood there, staring at each other. For years they had played the game, and played it well. He ran, she hunted. He hid, she found. He tried to put the past behind him.

She was there to make sure he couldn’t.

They both wished it could be different, both wished they weren’t there. They weren’t in love, life isn’t that messy. But the fact they were practically strangers was, in a way, worse.

They both fired.

The leaves became a more vivid shade of red.