2016 March 15

A scene that happens later in the chronological story.

            There was a clock that hung on the wall, ticking tepidly against the silence. Every other beat was either far too short or far too long, but I couldn’t bring myself to decide which. All I knew was that I could no longer keep my breathing in time with it’s beat, especially not now.

            I heard the refrigerator open and close. The sound coming from the other side of my door meant someone was downstairs. Soft noises floated through the air, undoubtedly produced from the rising volume of the television box. Whoever wanted ice was not alone.

            Two people downstairs. No talking.

            Thought, I suppose that was better than the latter.

            Just a couple minutes ago, I had caught my mother crying. It wasn’t a rare occasion. These past few days, she hadn’t been the best at hiding her emotions. Not from me, anyways. Wine glass in hand, the water poured from her eyes as she confessed the elements and cause of her misery. I had never been emotionally inclined in these situations, but my hand had automatically gone up to her shoulder, bringing her into an embrace. I lied to her. I told her everything was going to be okay, but the words sounded less than convincing as they passed over my own ears. I gave her some space after that, wandering back up to my room. Even as the moment passed, her sorrow stuck to me, weighing me down with every hopeless glance she couldn’t hide in her eyes.

             

Author's Note

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