Time has lost all meaning. Had it been one year? Twenty years? One hundred? More? She had stopped trying to count the days long ago. But she had believed–really believed–she’d be able to note the seasons. Hoping to mark the years. Imagining she’d be able to picture their faces as time passed.
She had wanted to be prepared. Be ready for the day when this ended. To not flinch when she saw her mother’s weary eyes and her father’s body wracked by time. To smile when her baby brother gazed down on her instead of reaching up for a hug. To love what is instead of mourning what was lost.
But the light was funny and she got confused. Never knowing whether she had slept for moment or a day or more. So she lost track of the seasons. Couldn’t count the years. She still felt as if she was waiting. Hoping. But she was no longer sure why. Or what she was hoping for.
For him to save her?
For an axe to end the lingering hope?
For a fire to burn them both to ash and scatter their doomed love into the wind?
For time to end?
The light was growing dim again. Perhaps she’d sleep for a moment. She could think about this another time. That was one thing she knew.
There was always more time.
The image is provided by Janek-Sedlar at DeviantArt and shared thanks to Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.
Thanks!! I needed a kick in the butt to write some FF.
Image credit: Angele Kamp @ Unsplash
Tina Stewart Brakebill 