"I'll be on my way now, don't you worry about a thing" Leonard called from the doorway as he took his coat off the coathanger, glancing to his wife with a smile. "Just be back before midnight!" Miss Mead's voice slithering out to the front door while it creaked open, knob in Leonard's hand as he stepped out. The door shut slowly... too slowly. It was an odd evening, that one. She heard leonard's shoes slip, it felt as if his steps fell between the crooked sidewalk cracks. When doubt comes, it clouds a person's mind, infects it, once the mind was caught in its jaws it would not let go, like a snake to its meal. And Jeanice was it's next meal. Though many homes had machines to cook for you and and other mechanic commodities in life were enjoyed by other women of the times, Jeanice preferred to do things manually. She liked looking out the window rather than staring at a viewing screen. She's always thought they lack the depth and sounds a person can savor from nature. Watching the trees swish and sway, dancing in the cold air. Autumn nights seemed perfectly quiet to one's ears, but not to the Meads. Life bled out of every void for them. They listened to the winds whisper in their ears, the leaves bustling by like cars in the daytime. She had met Leonard on one of her weekly night walks, she thought she thought she was the only one who dared to step out at night, until they crossed each other's paths. They'd meet so often they fell in love, and it was only natural they would become married. Suddenly, it felt as if the clock's ticks began to get louder, the sound echoing through the hollow house. Jeanice walked to the living room and opened the window, she felt quite ill from the clock's wretched ticks. Leonard could not possibly be out this long. As much as he enjoyed his walks she knew he would never part for long from his beloved Jeanice. A perverse thought zips through miss Mead's mind, but only for a second. Why, that wicked thought, it made her cringe. To think that Leonard would rather walk away forever, from the viewing screens and his adored Jeanice off to an infinite path of moonlit concrete. An hour passes, she pretends not to notice, and decides to keep herself busy. She returns to the kitchen, it felt cursed by now, and pours out some popcorn kernel into a pot, cranking the knob of an old-model oven that miraculously functioned. The popping noises start, which frightened her at first, since they had started so suddenly. Another hour treads by. She pours out the popped corn into a glass bowl, eating out of it anxiously as worry followed her like a stormcloud. She heard a car drive by all of a sudden, it was not common for one of the cars to patrol around this area. Midnight strikes, a loud bell's metallic clanking against the clock's wooden frame drove miss Mead mad. So she made a decision. She would eat one popcorn for every minute that passed. If she had finished her bowl before Leonard returned home she would go out to find him. So she laid on the couch, like a corpse being lowered to it's coffin, miserably, for the trees' dancing couldn't console her. The sound of crunching leaves faded away, only to be replaced by her munching on the popcorn. She looked down at her bowl, when she noticed less than half remained she felt her heart sink. Out of the blue there was a knock at the door, Miss Mead was so shocked she could not believe it. Maybe she had fallen asleep on the couch. She pinched herself to realize she was already awake. She got up from the couch and headed to the door calmly, opening it. "Leonard where were you?! I was worried sick..." Her voice trailed on towards a mechanical hand, reaching from the side of an empty police car parked in front by the house. She collected herself before speaking. "Good evening officer, is something wrong?" she asked the car, knowing it would be able to respond. And right she was. A shrieking metallic cry rose from the vehicle. "Madam, it appears to be that your husband, Mr. Leonard Mead has been arrested and apprehended. He has been sent off to the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies, you may only visit him once a week. Thank you for your time." The car drove back through the concrete river, off into the sea of darkness. A loud crashing of glass against a sidewalk had never been heard clearer, even a soft, foam like material rolling against a gritty stone surface rang through the night. Pittering pats hit against the ground, but it did not rain. Miss Jeanice Mead was crying, yet her tears seemed to drip down for eternity. Dripping forever, away from the viewing screens and her adored Leonard down an infinite path of moonlit concrete.