Once again, this was posted a few weeks ago on LJ, I just hadn't gotten around to posting it over here yet. Also, it's very short.
DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: I do not own Fringe. This story is rated for blood and implied violence. This is a rather dark piece, so be forewarned.
Tock
Another second passes, and she waits.
…one Mississippi, two Mississippi…
The clock on the wall's keeping time to the rhythm of her fingers, tap tap tapping on the table. She doesn't know when they'll be back, but she hopes it isn't anytime soon.
She can't see the clock from where she sits, wrists bound to the arms of her chair, feet shackled to the rough cement floor. But she can hear it, so she counts.
…three Mississippi, four Mississippi….
The last time she saw Peter he was motionless, a crimson stain spreading all around him like a macabre halo. She couldn't bring herself to consider the worst case scenario, but all she can think about are John's lifeless eyes. She can't lose anyone else.
...five Mississippi, six Mississippi…
She's long pasting hoping for rescue to come gallivanting in – it would have come by now, if it was coming at all. She doesn't think they're getting out of this alive.
She wonders if anyone will ever find their bodies.
…seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi…
Another second passes, and she waits.
END
Thank you for reading, and please review!
Child of a Pineapple