Waiting Within Time
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock keeps ticking, and she keeps waiting.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Will they ever return? Will they-
She should stop waiting for and worrying about them, but she can't help it –she has always been waiting. How can someone who has spent her entire life waiting –first for her parents and now for them to return– learn not to wait? Or maybe she is supposed to unlearn waiting?
Then again, is it possible really? How can she stop waiting, especially when she knows that there is a chance –a very small, tiny bit of a chance, but still a chance– of them coming back? What if they return? What if-
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Winry stifles a frustrated sigh. She doesn't know. She doesn't think time is the answer to her problem, either: Time has never been the cure but always the problem. Time is subtle, it is ever-changing and it doesn't wait for anybody. Time doesn't cure; it only hurts. It breaks your heart, spits the shards of your broken heart on the ground and jumps on them. Time mocks you; always cruel, always hating.
Time has always been and will always be Winry's enemy.
Time doesn't cure, it hurts. Waiting does you no good, it is only a waste of time. And still, Winry believes that there is a way, a way to be reunited with her loved ones if she waits long enough. If she is patient enough, she will be able to see them again. She just has to be patient. She just-
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The clock keeps ticking, and she keeps waiting.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
She abruptly stands up from her chair and walks towards the door, turning her head to glance at the window. The sun is setting; its orange, yellow and red rays illuminating the sky even as it goes down. She should be preparing dinner, yet she hesitates to leave the room. She swallows. She has to decide.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
There's no need for thinking, not anymore. She makes her decision, her face firm.
Tick. Tock. Ti-
Smash.
The remains of the clock, which was thrown into the wall only seconds ago, are now lying on the wooden floor. Winry doesn't care about it anymore, she has other things to do. Without a glance at the shattered pieces and gears, she leaves the room, off to prepare dinner. She tries to choose what to cook from a long mental list of meals. Her face relaxes as she exhales deeply.
Maybe she should have some stew tonight.
A/N: So... First published Winry drabble. Inspired by myself throwing my clock to the wall in frustration after a long wait. Not recommended, since some clocks might break easily. Mine survived, though. Anyway... Um, review, 'kay? You won't lose anything except maybe a few minutes, you know. It's not very good, could've been better, but at least I tried, right? *puppydogeyes*