When you’re gone…
A constant echo in his head.
gone gone gone gone…
His head in his hands, palms slick against his forehead. Sweat. Tears?
gone gone go-click
He looks up. The door had shut. Kind of. It was still stuck, the catch, the latch whatever you call it. What did you call it anyway? The little projecting thing, that fit into the door-frame?
Stupid door. Why wouldn’t someone shut it?
He gets up from the bed. It creaks. Another sound… And shuts the door.
She was gone…
He looks at the thin silver band in his hand. It won’t fit on his little finger, it’s so small.
It was hers.
And now she’s gone.
He walks back to the bed. There’s a photo lying there, of them. Bends down, picks it up.
Now it’s just him. The ‘her’ is gone. The she. The reason.
Sure it would be alright tomorrow. But today…?
He sits down.
He sits there for a very long time.