The Story of the Once Called Stasis Girl
Part 5 by Patrick
(indeterminate)
Anna was of an indeterminate age when she finally walked away from the bench Martin sat upon. One can not quantify a span of time when the means of measurement has ceased to operate.
Anna sat beside Martin — perhaps for a moment, perhaps for a lifetime. She spoke to him. She whispered into his ear. She berated and screamed. She held him.
Time then, after, began to trudge on.
Martin looked towards her, but found that he had been a moment too late. She was gone. In the succeeding days, he desperately sought her. He thought of apologizing once more, and suggest that, if instructed slowly, he might learn to dance again. It had been a decade before Martin decided to give up this notion. He had loved another, but not as much.
Anna walked through a curtain of raindrops as she looked towards the static that was once the sky. She thought of the birthday cake she had not eaten and how sweet it could have tasted. She thought of her cat, September, and her dead feline eyes. She thought of how dim the street lamp was the day she decided she would love the boy she danced with. Martin. She thought of Martin.
Anna was dead before the raindrops struck the strange flowers that littered the meadow she found herself in when she decided she had walked far enough.
