Thursday, August 29, 2013

Prompt: When the last one leaves, part 1

Miriam felt the now-familiar fluttering of her heart and lay down on the ground before they reached their peak. This time, a shooting pain lanced up from the back of her neck up through her skull. She felt like the top of her head might explode. Darkness.

When she woke, she could not feel her right side, and she wondered how she would get home. The red dwarf sun had set, and the moons were already high. At least it would not be completely dark. She slept.

There was nothing to disturb her, not even an ant. Nothing to see her distress, not even a bird or a buzzing insect. No one to rescue her. Her lips were thick and dry when she woke. She fumbled around with her left hand and found her water bottle.

Two swallows. That’s all she ever allowed herself. It took so long to capture the condensed water vapor from the air, she felt the need to save as much as possible. This was a rather exceptional situation, of course. She gave herself two more long swallows.

She could rock, side to side, and when she finally rolled onto her useless right side, she pushed herself up with her left hand, straining all the muscles she could feel to pull herself sitting upright. The moons were bright in their apposite orbits, and they would give her good light for most of the night. She tried to estimate how far she was from the house. How long had she been walking?

Sitting, she could push with her left leg and help with her left hand. She felt ridiculous. It was a long time since she had felt self-conscious. Mainly she was glad she had worn her threadbare jumpsuit for sun protection that day. She rarely bothered with clothes any more. She could feel the fabric rubbing and tearing against her bottom and the backs of her legs. So much for the jumpsuit. She grimaced.

The moons had crossed by the time she pulled herself close enough to see the house. She had only two swallows left in her water bottle, and she promised herself she could drink them as soon as she reached the porch. In the moonlight, she could see past the house to the headstones lined up in a military-straight row. “Should I pass the house and come lie down with you?” she thought to her old friends. She rarely spoke aloud any more. Only to Alice.

“Alice, I’m hurt,” she said, lying on the porch after she drank her last two swallows of water.

“How are you hurt?” Alice said in her uninflected voice.

To be continued in part 2...

Dogs in house

Time writing:
~1 hour (all three parts)

August word count:

No comments:

Post a Comment