Not going to blather on much today. This week's installment in my The Mourningstar drabble courtesy of the #ThursThreads prompts hosted by Siobhan Muir.
You can check out the contest rules and other entries on her blog, as well as check out her books and other things she is working on.
This week's prompt is "The clock was ticking."
My entry:
He
knew he couldn’t hide forever. As much as he tried to re-enter society—re-enter
reality, he found it was nearly impossible. Doing so would make it real, acknowledging
her death happened, that she was irrevocably gone.
Everyone
kept telling him that everyone handles grief differently and to take all the
time he needed to process her death. There would never be enough time for that.
He
would stop time if he could.
Despite
his wishes, the clock was ticking. Time continued to move forward, steadily and
sure, tick tick tick.
He
poured himself another whiskey, having stopped counting them a long time ago.
The alcohol did little to assuage the pain, no matter how much he drank. If she
was here, he’d be right well drunk, but she wasn’t, so he wasn’t.
Movement
out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, a familiar wisp of golden
blonde hair. The scent of the ocean soon followed.
“Come
to torture me some more?” he asked her ghost. “Thought you had enough fun toying
with me already.”
His
wife stood there with the same sad expression that she had the last time he saw
her ghost. She looked perfect, not a single hair out of place. No broken bones
or fractures or blood, unlike the day he had to identify her body at the morgue,
mangled and lifeless.
“Why
are you here?”
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The #Mourningstar drabbles are based on the Lucifer TV show. While my story is original and divergent from canon, I am playing in another creator's sandbox.
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