Well, this went in a completely different direction than I had intended.
1939
It's 1939 and Carson is old. The world has changed around him but some things are constant. People die, babies are born. Such is the way of the world. Some things are hard to change. Other things don't need changing.
He hasn't worked as a butler in years. Though, he supposes he's one of the lucky few who had a choice in the matter. Mrs Hughes ceased to exist a long time ago, and Mrs Carson took her place. They were married, retired comfortably, and lived happily ever after.
On the last day of August, he irons the morning paper. He always irons the paper – it's one of those old habits that are impossible to break. He sits on a chair as his wife sits in bed, pillows lined up behind her. She listens like she does everyday these days as he reads story after story.
"Charles?" Her weak voice interrupts his reading. Her eyes are half-closed. He's fully aware that she's drifting. She's neither here nor there, and he wants to grab hold and prevent her from ever going.
"Yes, Elsie?" he carefully takes her frail hand in his. Her hands, with their swollen joints and many lines, were always much older than she seemed.
"Do you ever feel like nothing really changes?"
"Some things must stay the same," he answers diplomatically.
"Not that.." she trails off. "More like, seasons. They change every year, but they always come back. Charles, why do they come back?"
He raises a grey eyebrow in amusement because it's better to be amused than worried. He calls the young doctor just in case.
The doctor warns him that her time was running out. Charles has known this since her diagnosis. But having the doctor say that she would not last the week puts a time limit and he's not prepared for this.
Her body is attacking itself and she is withering away. She's a shadow of the woman she once was. Charles selfishly prays for one more day with her simply because she's the shadow of the woman he fell in love with.
On September 1st, he irons the newspaper. Hot off the presses: Germany invaded Poland. He skips that part. Elsie need not worry.
On September 2nd, she finally goes and his world is so empty.
He goes through the motions. He still irons his newspaper the next day because this is what he has done. There is no reason for his routine to be interrupted. But he stops almost as soon as he started. The promise of death is plastered all over. The country is at war – all of Europe is at war – and the whole world is going to hell.
Hasn't this happened already? He's seen this before; he's already lived this. How many times does the world need to end before it can stop ending?
It's 1939 and even when everything in his life has been flipped on its head, nothing changes.
Thoughts?