Monique

“The silence between us, around us, rivaled the end of time. The shrubs may have wilted, the river may have evaporated away, every hydrogen and oxygen atom sucked into space. Everything in existence drifting farther and farther away, endlessly and quietly fading.
Then, a pebble slipped into the river, reprimanding the water for staring and reminding it that it had a job to do. With some regret, the river moved on but kept thinking about our stories as it sloshed and trickles back to life.
Soon the fuscus, prompted by the river's resumption of its duties, began to wave back and forth once again, shaking off the droplets the river splashed on its stalks.
The trees around us, taking note of their part in the story, twitched their noir leaves as the wind spurred them on, and a rustling like bells filled my ears.
The clouds, always the last to hear about anything, understood that they too had to move on. So, they scooched along and let the sun have a turn.
We didn't say anything. Didn't move. We simply lay on the brown grass and the black soil as we stared up at the sky, watching the clouds billow past the daffodil sun, our hands, still nested together, keeping us tethered to our reality.”
― K.R. Gadeken, Nabukko