Word: Indolent (adjective)- lazy, lethargic, not showing interest in making and effort, as a way of life. Inactive and unlikely to exert oneself.
Prompt: At first glance Mickey would seem fairly indolent, but if you looked closer you would see that he was just looking for his own kind of adventure.
Disclaimer: I'm too indolent.
At first glance Mickey would seem fairly indolent, but if you looked closer you would see that he was just looking for his own kind of adventure. And he found it, with his family. Martha, Adeoula, and Jeffrey.
Martha and Mickey had decided to take five year old Addie and one year old Jeffrey on a month long holiday to New York City to visit some friends of Martha's. Today they were touring Central Park.
Martha was helping Jeffrey climb on a massive rock near the memorial to John Lennon, and Addie was waiting impatiently at the top jumping up and down begging them to hurry. Mickey was taking pictures of his family and laughing. They were so beautiful. He could not understand how after everything he'd been through he could be this lucky. Forget all of time and space, he wouldn't trade it for the looks on his children's faces as leftover blossoms began to fall on them from the trees above.
All tall, white haired woman passed behind him. Out of Mickey peripheral, he saw the woman reach out her hand as if to hold someone else's. The woman was alone, and as Mickey turned to see her clearly he saw a sad, lost expression drift across her face. Mickey recognized that expression. Rose had worn it for three years straight.
"Excuse me," Mickey called out automatically. The woman turned to him in surprise, probably unaccustomed to his London accent.
"Yes?" the woman replied with a deep Scottish brogue. Mickey was equally startled.
"Have you lost someone?" Mickey still didn't know what was compelling to talk to her. He could feel Martha's gaze on his back, the mark of their many missions together. They were always aware of each other. The woman glared at him shrewdly.
"My husband," she decided to answer.
"I'm sorry," the woman nodded.
"I was hoping I might get to see him today." Mickey considered the woman. She had to be at least in her eighties. Whoever the woman's husband had been, he was most likely dead. Mickey decided he should make sure the woman had her head on straight.
"What's your name?" The woman seemed to wrestle with her answer.
"I'm not sure anymore," she settled. Mickey was seriously becoming concerned. "I've been so many people you see," she's correctly interpreted his expression, "live so many lives and done so many things. I don't know who I am without him, but I suppose you could call me Amy." And suddenly Mickey knew that Amy wasn't crazy. She was one of them. He reached out his hand, and Amy took it, her gnarled hands moving slowly and shakily. He smiled as she walked away, smiling bemusedly. Mickey smiled and turned back to his family.
"Who was that?" Martha asked worriedly. Mickey twitched his lips in a bittersweet expression.
"A companion."