𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ━ five hargreeves

3│DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITHOUT YOU

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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
- ͙۪۪˚   ▎❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ❜   ▎˚ ͙۪۪̥◌
»»————- ꒰ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ
ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꒱


❝ [ EVERYONE ] HAS A BLACK HOLE
IN THEIR BACKYARD, RIGHT NEXT
TO THEIR BIRDBATH ❞

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January 18th, 1959

Dolores stood alone on the sidewalk for many long moments after Hazel disappeared, still reeling from the abrupt change of events. Now that she was pre-apocalypse, the January temperatures were much more tolerable and the people milling about on the street were evidence to that fact. Even though she wasn't alone anymore, the brunette still couldn't help but feel completely isolated from the rest of the citizens, as if she were a singular planet on an orbit when everyone else was part of a solar system.

What she really needed was a drink. It would help her sort out all of these feelings that were threatening to spill over, yet no one would serve alcohol to a minor. She'd have to wait until dark to steal some.

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During the hours in between, Dolores kept to the less-travelled streets since she knew her more than unkempt appearance would draw stares and unwanted questions. Besides, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to have an actual conversation with anyone.

Once late night arrive— and the rain along with it— she made her way back to the main street as her clothes became soaked through. She ignored the wetness since she'd suffered through worse and stopped outside of a darkened window. She bent and picked up a loose, medium-sized piece of gravel from the sidewalk and hurled it at the glass door, causing it to shatter the solid barrier. Thankfully, the late fifties had no concept of security alarms or cameras so she'd only be caught if there was a witness. As far as she could tell, there wasn't one and she made her way into the darkened room without difficulty. She picked up the first bottle she could get her hands on and took a long swallow, ignoring the burn of the drink.

If anyone were to walk in on the sight of the teenage girl drinking by herself they'd first stop to stare at her strange assortment of clothes, from the white-and-red bowling shoes to her jeans— which were primarily male attire during the time— to her grimy black-and-white polka-dotted shirt and oversized school uniform jacket that had seen obvious wear. They would next notice her face which, while it held a youthful look, could be described as aged with an expression more often seen on some veteran's face than a girl's. Then, they might call the police.

It was a good thing that no one was curious about a broken shop window at one a.m. on a Sunday.

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January 19th, 1959 7:30 a.m.

Later that morning at a more reasonable hour, Dolores stumbled out of the bar. Her clouded mind figured that her best course of action would be to get some coffee. After all, it was what she and Five had done at The Commission whenever they'd had a spare moment (which, while not often, had happened.)

She lost track of the number of people she bumped into as she made her way down the street and ignored the stares she'd been worried about the day before. The nearest coffee shop was just down the block, Mary's Café, though she didn't notice the name as she pushed the door open. Light 50s music was playing in the background as waitresses in blue uniform dresses bustled around the space while they served early-morning customers. Blue, white and red wallpaper striped the walls and booths lined the edge of the room.