Darkness overcomes the senses, turning sun into moon as another speck of a day passes. August was still counting. 14 million. 15 million. 18 million. They cried a tear for each singular soul that had perished. 20 million. 22. 26.
Midnight struck like a thunderbolt. And over again. 90,000. 5 million. 6 million. As they cried, they felt foolish. This was not their job. They crept down to the confines of their favorite glen, that sparkled with eternal mystery.
An elk looked them in the eyes, but of course it was impossible. The fawn the elk had been watching stuttered away, leading the elk's gaze to the glowing pond below their hooves. August sighed and fell into a sleep-like trance, for watchers could never sleep.
August decided to get up from her resting place, and found an elk skull next to the pond. The days had turned into years, and they didn't mind. "Let the blood run," a common logic for watchers. Intervention was disgraceful.
The timeline gave way the law that human race was soon to come. 13 million. 14 million. 15 million. The cycle would never stop. August was not afraid of humans. Their creation would come and go, and they would be extinct in about 100 billion years, which could be a blink of the eye for them.
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Days & Weeks & Months
RandomMature for death and loss factors. August is a watcher. They never intervene. But then why does death and loss intrigue them so? They are conflicted as the battle of lifetimes rages around them.
