III.
A pale yellow light seeped in around the curtains in the small cabin, drowsily starting the late autumn morning. The light showed a room somewhere between messy and organized. Dishes and silverware were gathered on the small table in the kitchen nook. Clothes were piled near the bed, on the opposite wall. Despite the clutter, it was clearly defined. No clothes were in the kitchen, and no hint of dishes could be found near the bed.
A small couch and end-table were near the front door, with a tall leafy plant on the table. A pile of worn paperback books, all with bookmarks halfway through, was stacked nearby. On the opposite wall, a chest of drawers sat closed near a writing desk, its typewriter unmoving with a page half-written in it. It was, overall, a sparse home.
The morning light did not catch Liam off-guard, for he was awake long before the dawn. He stood looking out a side window, with one shoulder holding back the thin curtain. A flock of larger black birds stood together in the dew-covered grass, sometimes hopping and turning their heads in the search for their first meal of the day. Liam was also breaking his fast with a small package of dried apricots, bought on a whim. He had not eaten dried apricots since he was a young boy, and could not explain why the craving suddenly returned to him.
As he stood chewing an apricot and watching the birds, the past seeped unbidden into his mind, an idea and a longing from long ago, with Allison. He had always had a longing for what he wanted his life to be. In his mind, he smelled the richness of the summer earth and the special scent of the warm evening breeze. He saw the tall grass swaying against the distant tree line, tall and unbroken by humans. He turned, facing into the sun, and took the hand of his wife, whom he loved and who had always been there for him, and-
Liam choked on an apricot, coughing violently. The memory, and the moment, were gone, and like a dream disrupted, he could not guide his thoughts back to the happy what-if.
Like the apricots, it had also been a long time since Liam's thoughts had strayed to Rachel. Years ago, after their parting, he had left his old life behind, ran until he reached the edge of the sea. A number of hard years later, it was scar tissue in his mind, something to never think about, but run your hand over subconsciously.
A pale yellow light seeped in around the curtains in the small cabin, drowsily starting the late autumn morning. The light showed a room somewhere between messy and organized. Dishes and silverware were gathered on the small table in the kitchen nook. Clothes were piled near the bed, on the opposite wall. Despite the clutter, it was clearly defined. No clothes were in the kitchen, and no hint of dishes could be found near the bed.
A small couch and end-table were near the front door, with a tall leafy plant on the table. A pile of worn paperback books, all with bookmarks halfway through, was stacked nearby. On the opposite wall, a chest of drawers sat closed near a writing desk, its typewriter unmoving with a page half-written in it. It was, overall, a sparse home.
The morning light did not catch Liam off-guard, for he was awake long before the dawn. He stood looking out a side window, with one shoulder holding back the thin curtain. A flock of larger black birds stood together in the dew-covered grass, sometimes hopping and turning their heads in the search for their first meal of the day. Liam was also breaking his fast with a small package of dried apricots, bought on a whim. He had not eaten dried apricots since he was a young boy, and could not explain why the craving suddenly returned to him.
As he stood chewing an apricot and watching the birds, the past seeped unbidden into his mind, an idea and a longing from long ago, with Allison. He had always had a longing for what he wanted his life to be. In his mind, he smelled the richness of the summer earth and the special scent of the warm evening breeze. He saw the tall grass swaying against the distant tree line, tall and unbroken by humans. He turned, facing into the sun, and took the hand of his wife, whom he loved and who had always been there for him, and-
Liam choked on an apricot, coughing violently. The memory, and the moment, were gone, and like a dream disrupted, he could not guide his thoughts back to the happy what-if.
Like the apricots, it had also been a long time since Liam's thoughts had strayed to Rachel. Years ago, after their parting, he had left his old life behind, ran until he reached the edge of the sea. A number of hard years later, it was scar tissue in his mind, something to never think about, but run your hand over subconsciously.
