Matte white tiles stained red with her blood. She crouched, cascades flowing down her vitreous legs following open veins. It dwelled in her, a terrarium to our world—at peril. She stared at me, wearing pain as a mask.
Silence plagued behind clicking drops of faucet water. I gazed off, those kinds of moments leading to distorted worlds. In each one, I held her tightly, our fabric tainted by grim realities.
Our eyes met again, her watch piercing like daggers, strong enough to snap me out of my trance. She whispered, “We can always try again.”
Eternal silence sounded better.
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You know, this reminds me–as my best friend put it, the biggest fear they have is “the eternal silence of God”, to which I heartily agree.
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