Not sure where this little plot bunny came from. I was just reading over some poetry over at DA and got intrigued by the concept of the "lipogram." Before I knew it, the first line had just flowed out onto the paper. (BTW, this is not written to actually be a lipogram- I just thought it served as an interesting metaphor.)
It's strange how one bitty little letter can mean the difference between feelin' complete and havin' one crater sized chunk ripped outta your chest. Zoe knows she went from whole to hole in barely a breath, and she still hasn't caught up with that distinction.
She doesn't rightly want to. Doesn't want to think on the distinction between warrior and wounded, or with and without, or worse yet, between a wife and a widow.
Stranger still that she finds herself thinking of that letter more and more. Zoe's never been one for conversation, but now she swears there's really something wrong in the way that words are coming out. She thinks she hears some whistling breath rushing through that wasted space where that letter's supposed to be. Every time, she wants, she wishes, she wonders, she-
Won't think on it. She's got no cause to remember that bathhouse on Poseidon, when she and her man were all wet and willing for a solid week. She refuses to remember the way he loved to wander about in junkyards, just picking through the wreckage waiting to stumble upon some treasure or other. She just won't.
Despite it all, she thinks she can wait the pain out. Just keep walking tall like the Amazon warrior he always called her. She manages it a while, working day in and out on one world or the next. It ain't 'til the cold winter that she gives in to the weakness, weeping and wailing 'til she's purged all those tears that wormed their way into her missing heart.
Hope you liked it- and be gentle when you review, I don't usually write in this fandom, and I usually read Rayne. Oops? lol