The Worst
Her eyes were wide in terror. Her skin gleamed, pale and translucent. Her face, wrinkled, looked almost lifeless.
Though her lips were parted and moving ever so slowly no words came out.
It was as if someone had pressed slow motion on the remote. Each agonizing second lasted an eternity before it allowed the next to come, and then the next and the next.
A sudden jolt interrupted the painfully slow and yet so fast (too fast) process and her lips halted their movement to form a silent 'O'. Her eyes opened even wider and she looked right at him, piercing him. Blaming him.
He was no longer a bystander looking on but a participant in the cruelty.
He hadn't tried to save her. He hadn't stepped in to take her place. He'd looked on, frozen, unable to move. Her eyes slid from his as she hit the floor and his heart stopped. She was dead.
The Wraith standing over her smiled and fixed him with a challenging stare.
He tried to breathe, turned over and the warmth of Elizabeth's body next to his – her very alive body – shook him awake. He was wiping away his tears when she stirred.
"John?"
He swallowed and slowly brought his eyes to hers.
No longer did she look drained of everything that she was. No longer did she look drained of life.
She was okay. She was alive.
He placed a kiss on her forehead and clasped her hand under the sheets. "I'm glad you here."
"Nightmare?"
He sighed as the image of her rapidly ageing body spun into his mind once more. It was so very wrong. They were supposed to grow old together, not die separately at the hands of the Wraith. He smiled grimly. "The worst."
fin.
