Laced Fingers

A 100-word story.


Laced fingers.

The silence and the fear, the silence and the fear.

Darkness flashing past the whizzing window.

All will be well, for all must be well, and if it all isn’t—well?

Time stretches, dry on the tongue, holding dangers, questions, hopes, fears, and nothing, nothing to be done.

Quiet. Waiting for what will be to be.

Laced fingers, and the gleam on the dark glass.

The hum of wheels and the drum of the heart, the only swift things in the stretching uncertain.

The heart wonders, what will come?

And what will come wonders nothing of the heart.



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