Monday, September 12, 2016

Late

Flash Fiction by Erin "Ren" B. of Opportunities for Learning
1st Place for High School Fiction - 2016 Met Awards

I watch the clock, as it's hands reach up to touch the numbers. I wish that I could reach up to touch any part of you, but I can't.

The little hand passes the 2 for the tenth time since I've started watching. I'm reminded of all the two's I miss about you. Like your two eyes that sparkle when the sun hits them, or twinkle with the moon. Your two hands that hold tightly onto me, as if I was your only hope. Your two arms that entrap me, like a blanket. Your two legs that walk to me, or if needed, that run to me, when I feel alone.

The big hand moves closer to the 10. You were supposed to be here by now. But, I know why you aren't. Your ten toes don't wiggle anymore. Your ten fingers cannot grasp onto me anymore.

The clock strikes 12. Midnight. It's been a whole day since I lost you. Ironically enough, the prince lost Cinderella at midnight. The only difference is that I'm not a princess. And you aren't a prince. So, unlike prince charming, I won't get you back. There is no magical glass slipper to cure your absence. 

It's 1 am. It's funny how we call it morning when the sun is too sleepy to rise. I met you at 1 am a year ago. I would ask if you remembered, but I know you don't. You can't. After a long night of travel, I met you at the only coffee shop open. Your hair was too long, your body too lanky, and you were too forward with your behavior for me, a grumpy and weary traveler. But I gave you a shot anyways. And now, I'm not sure that I'm glad I did.

It's 2 am and I'm thinking about your two eyes, two hands, two arms, and two legs. I'm also reminded of your two tumors you never told me about. Or the two seizures you had in the hospital the night you left. I know it's selfish to hate those gone. But, I do.

Because, with all these numbers, you had, you had a multitude of chances to tell me the truth. And now I'm here picking up all the pieces from a boy who didn't give me enough minutes.

Contributor's Note: I like writing (especially fiction), reading, and playing piano. I wrote this piece, somewhat from experience, somewhat from imagination. I wanted to feel moved by what I wrote. I wanted to fall in love with my character and hate him all at once. Losing someone is hard. Losing someone unexpectedly can be infuriating. I wanted to incorporate those emotions into my work.

No comments: