Prompt: kinetic: moving, from 's word of the day for 22 January 2009
Part of my self-imposed 15-minute ficlet challenge and it went a little weird. Feedback/criticism always welcomed!
Every night she cries into the thin pillow and hopes that Simon will hear her. Somehow. Some way. Her brain spins through calculations of the distance between planet and moon as she sobs. It knows that the sound will travel no further than the absorbent walls of her little cell, but her heart will not lose hope.
Every day she whirls and kicks and throws. She hopes she hits hard enough to wound, to bruise, to crush fragile bones. Men with hard faces and women with hard hands patch her up and send her back out. They promise her a break from the training but they lie.
Every morning she stares into nothing as her brain burns inside her head. She feels phantom tugs at her elbow, in the crook of her neck. There's a tingle on the skin over her breastbone that never goes away.
She spends an eternity in that place and when Simon finally hears her crying, she knows that his River is gone forever. He looks her in the eye but sees only the lies that they made her build. She hopes she can remember how to keep them going so she doesn't have to break his heart.
Every morning she walks barefoot along the catwalks and tries not to let anyone see her. The metal is cold under her feet and her toes start to ache. She floats down a ladder and presses her fingers to the wall to see if she can hear the secrets the ship holds.
Every day she twirls and dips and dances to music that's only in her head. Once in a while, she catches Kaylee in her hands as she moves through the engine room and pulls her along in an impromptu promenade. She hums aloud and stares at nothing as her heart swells and bursts in her chest.
Every night she cries into the thin pillow and hopes that Simon will never hear her.