Quiet
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Not even the computer I wrote it on.
Summary: The clock that is supposed to chime every hour hasn't made a sound in days. Or maybe she just can't hear it anymore.
Feedback: Reviews are fun. Like a barrel of monkeys. Why anyone would put monkeys in a barrel…I don't know, but it's supposedly a lot of fun
Feels like the end of the world, this Sunday night…
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She doesn't know if it's possible, but it seems as if a numbness has settled into the entire apartment, rather than just her body.
Darkness pervades every corner, even when the sun is up. A layer of dust has covered every surface in just a few hours.
The clock that is supposed to chime every hour hasn't made a sound in days. Or maybe she just can't hear it anymore.
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She closes her eyes against the sound of the alarm clock, wishing that would block out the noise. It doesn't work so she listens to the buzzing, until it turns into a comforting rhythm. Then she slams her hand down on the clock, and hopes it breaks. She doesn't want to be comfortable. Not today.
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The streetlight on the corner has burnt out, but she can still see the stark contrast of white flakes against the inky black of the night sky.
"Everything's magical when it snows." She whispers against the silence.
She remembers a time of wide-eyed innocence when she'd actually believed that. Now she curses it as frozen water and just wishes it would rain.
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She pulls her robe tighter around her body then presses her hand against the window. Her fingers leave smudges as she drags them down the cold glass. She thinks about punching her fist through it, but knows she'll just end up with five bruised knuckles and an unbroken window.
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The tears stopped twelve hours earlier and left in their wake tracks of dried salt and cheap mascara.
She tilts her head as she stares at her form reflected in the glass, and she can almost see his reflection next to hers. But she blinks and it's gone. She lets out a shuddering breath and screws her eyes shut.
When she opens them again her gaze slides away from the window for the first time that night, and she immediately regrets it when it lands on pieces of paper, wood, and glass that used to mean something.
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The hem of the dress brushes gently against the skin below her knees. The cloth is soft and warm and makes her want to change. But before she can do more than think about walking back to the closet, she's standing in front of the mantle with the picture in her hands.
She brushes her fingers over their faces. Over the long white dress and the tuxedo the same color as the dress she has on now. Tears suddenly sting sharply behind her eyes and she can't stand being calm and controlled anymore.
Her grip tightens on the picture until the glass cracks, and she throws it, pieces of glass and frame shattering against the wall. Her arms wrap around her stomach as sobs wrack her body and she falls to her knees. "No." She cries. "No, no, no."
--
She looks back to the window and the world comes back to life with a blast of sound. A dog barks from the street outside. The next apartment over is playing a late night movie much louder than necessary. The clock chimes three am.
And even though eighteen hours had passed, she can still hear her mother's sad voice on the answering machine.
"Hey, hon. It's me. We're, uh, at the cemetery. I know you said you didn't need a ride, but the funeral is starting in fifteen minutes and you're still not here. So, just…call me back if you want us to pick you up. If not, then…well I guess we'll see you when you get here. Okay, I love you. Bye, babe."