Last Rotations

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With a groan, Cecilia stood up, her legs unsteady from the alcohol, her mind cloudy and disoriented. After climbing down from the building's rooftop - she walked along the deserted street, humming an old familiar tune. The familiar tune floated in the quiet, giving a gentle memory of something she had lost long, long ago.

Her gentle, quiet voice was the only sound in the peaceful area around her, like a thin line linking her to memories that seemed from a different time. Even her robust and mechanical body started to feel tired from the day's search, with cold slowly reaching her joints as she kept going. Getting more tired, she finally looked around for a spot to rest.

So she searched in fast darl emptiness, finding nothing but an old bus stop bench, old and battered, planted like a solo sentry on a desolate plane of sand. With a thud, she dropped to the bench, reclining back, staring at the sky across which stars sprinkled with abandon, the chilly air surrounding her immeasurably wordless.

"Why am I even bothering?" She said, hardly more than a whisper, the words blowing up into the vast black sky.

The silence cradled her words as comprehensive and committed as if even the stars had grown too weary to speak. Then, from that beautiful stillness, there was only the faint sound of her wind-up key, a small persistent tick-tock contrasting with the still atmosphere. Soft yet sturdy, each turn was a heartbeat in a dead world, a gentle, tireless reminder of the pitter-patter still pushing her.

And there she sat with frosty stares above, her only company, her mechanical heart humming away.

The last clicks rang out through the silence. There were only two rotations left.

Cecilia held her hand suspended over her key, bearing the weight of countless decisions. Her every heartbeat echoed in the silence, making time stretch in the vagueness of her decision.

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