10│SEVEN DAYS WITHOUT COMPANIONSHIP. . .

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ sᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴅᴀʏs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ
ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ. . . ꒱


❝ WHERE'S THE SUN? ❞

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Lola was right: reading had made her feel better as she'd known it would. The familiarity of the words had helped calm her down and clear her head, subduing the panic and grief that had threatened to overwhelm her. She stood and stumbled on her first step, stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. Night was coming and there was something too eerily uncomfortable about sleeping on top of her old home that forced her to move. The brunette paused at what was once the front door and turned to look at the only home she'd ever known. 

There was an empty, deep ache in her chest from the death of her family— she hadn't even gotten to say goodbye— but that was expected. She had decided that she really wouldn't rather see the bodies of her family and had chosen to leave them buried in the rubble, no matter how much they deserved a proper burial and resting place.

She took a breath and spoke aloud: "I have to go now. I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter. I'm sorry I didn't listen when I was supposed to. I'm sorry for never inviting you to read what I was writing. I'm sorry that I didn't ask you to come down to the basement with me that night. I'm sorry for leaving you here. We all know I'm not a survivor. I enjoy the— the comforts of life too much to do well where they're absent, but I'll try. I'll try, for your sake. There's little hope that I can somehow save you but if there's a way, I'll make it happen. So, until there's a final answer for that I'll keep looking for one, which means that I have to try to survive." Lola paused, wishing more than ever that she had invited her family to the basement the fateful night. But there was no time for that, so she instead she finished simply: "goodbye."

The girl turned and made her way deeper into the old downtown, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the house as possible. For the first time ever, Lola wished there was school. There would be no more learning in the apocalypse; most of the books hadn't made it or weren't important enough to keep. She missed the constant, benign chatter of her classmates and the repetitive days that she'd taken for granted. There was so much that she'd taken for granted.

She missed staying up late and reading under the covers while hearing her parent's muted laughter from the downstairs, she missed her uncle calling her 'Sequins' as much as she hated that nickname, she missed the way his eyes would twinkle and he'd always be the first to make a situation lighter or crack a joke. She even missed her mother telling her what to do and scolding her for not doing it. She missed being in summer and wishing it was fall, she missed being in fall and wishing it was summer. Lola tilted her head up to look at the grey, grey sky, the falling ash hitting and dirtying her goggles.

She wished she could throw something. A heavy object, preferably, right up to that vast, grey expanse. She pictured it cracking as it was hit, fragments and spider-web fissures showing in the smooth, glassy surface. The shards falling around her in a rain, dangerous and sharp. Then, in the aftermath, the familiar blue sky would appear and warm sun would hit her face and fluffy white clouds would drift across as if they'd always been there, hidden under a heavy blanket. Anger spiked within her. 

"WHERE'S THE SUN?" she cried up at the sky, "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT? I WANT IT BACK!"

Her voice echoed in the empty space.

There was no natural light, just brighter in the day and pitch-black at night. They had to make fires to see, to provide their own warmth. The girl bent and picked up a rock and threw it with all her might farther down the street. Even the thump was muted. She gave a little sob, wishing, wishing, for some sort of temperature. Since she'd come out, there'd been no warmth, no chill (although that was becoming more noticeable now), the temperature just was and she was sick of it.

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreevesWhere stories live. Discover now