To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread.
As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Hour]
Definition: a period of time equal to a twenty-fourth part of a day and night and divided into 60 minutes.
╰┈➤ Write a piece about something that happens during an hour.
Word Count: Minimum 300 words, no maximum.
An hour before the train leaves and I am a hundred kilometers away from you.
Invisible flame sets my feet alight by the first five minutes, my legs taking me forward regardless of the screams its muscles make. There's no time to shout in pain; I save my voice for the next fifty-fifth minutes.
Forty-five and I grow used to the world blurring before me. Not one face stays long enough in my sight that I can register any smile or frown besides yours. The stars that awoke constellations in your eyes twinkle with encouragement, and I pray a silent thanks for their grace.
Thirty sets of sixty seconds and I nearly collapse onto a stray street light. It flickers with pity as my body slumps against the harsh upright metal. Thirty seconds I tell myself I'll have. By the tenth, I take off, leaving its warmth for the cold night.
By the fifteenth, I hear the faint blare of the announcer. The train that is about to take you away from me has just arrived, is what I get from his strained voice.
The crowds can't hear my pleading over the shriek of the train's screeching halt. Parents look at me in mild shock, more disgusted as the pull their children closer. Ten left. I must look like I had escaped a highly guarded area to get here. A runaway.
Except I was running toward, to someone who I realized I didn't want scratched out of my life. The initial of the name I want to draw in hearts pierced by an arrow.
But the station guard draws my patience thinner than the five minutes winding down to two. He says that you need a ticket, and I tell him I haven't said goodbye. The core of my stomach tells me to tell him I'm lying. I don't.
By the time I step on the train, my neck receives a near fatal whiplash as I search for you. You aren't here, my head says; you have to be here, my heart says. What if I had gotten the time wrong? You could be thousands of kilometers away by now if I misheard.
I must have misheard.
Body aching, I step back down to the platform, defeated. I was too late.
In the second I don't realize it's you, I think I'm hearing things.
But it is, you're standing in front of me, voice muffled by the blue scarf I gave you two weeks ago. Next thing I feel is your touch, and I'm scared I might fall into you quite literally. Yet the more I feel myself slip, the more I feel you catching my weight.
I feel the wood creak underneath me, and I decide that I can tell her after a good, true fifteen minute break.
Outside the open window of Seele’s room, closed curtains wave at the stars blinking in the night sky. Inside her room, time has long since stopped. The ghost of a kiss lingering on tightly shut lips leaves Kiana in a trance.
A garden of anemones and dahlias bloom underneath a patch of snow. Kiana’s hands still as flowers bloom right before her eyes. The roots must have made their way up to her throat because words seem to never make it out of her mouth and air feels heavy on her lungs. Her lips quiver as she struggles to hold back a breath, cold roots digging deeper into her neck, and the ocean shakes violently in her eyes.
“Kiana?“ Seele's voice cuts through the silence. Like thorns on a rose prickling against her skin, it leaves bright red marks on Kiana’s cheeks. Seele speaks softly, almost a whisper, but her voice echoes loudly in her ears. Anxiety ultimately weighs down her chest. In her eyes, there’s only guilt and shame, and she sees it reflect on the anemones growing wider and wider by the seconds. “Is everything okay?”
The moment Seele runs a hand on her cheeks, the garden ceases to exist. Bouquets of anemones, roses, and dahlias disappear as quickly as it came and all of a sudden, she’s staring at Seele’s bare face, no garden or snow. Kiana sees that her eyes are wide with concern as she nurses the side of her face with her palm, warm fingers against cool skin. A lingering feeling tells Kiana that it had been a mistake.
Kiana thinks—no, everything isn’t okay. The heavy feeling invading her chest tells her she’s not supposed to be here and that that garden is never meant to grow. She rejects the precedent but she lies besides Seele, eyes wide and breath uneven with the urge to seek that garden once more. Her hands are already on her neck clinging desperately for her embrace, but she hesitates. Purple eyes only remind her of a person she once loved because somehow, even as she tries so hard to move on and fill up the space she left empty in her heart by herself, she could never forget her—even when Seele keeps her company, holds her hand, and keeps her warm on a cold night in November. Memories of a promise shared in July only continue to flash in her mind and open a door for guilt to revisit her as it always had. At this point, guilt had become her best friend.
Glimpse of anemones and dahlias growing amidst winter and petals of rose against her cheeks pulls Kiana back to reality. Gardens had not bloomed with her and she had not seen flowers grow in patches of snow until Seele. She feels ridiculous comparing who she once had with Seele—Seele who doesn’t deserve to be part of the mess she made—but she’s desperate and lonely and Seele is honest with her. So she thinks—yes, everything’s fine. She’s alright. She leaves the past and stays in the present and until then, past the window sills and translucent glass panes, flowers pull her and give her sanctuary in Seele’s room. The garden convinces her to stay—even if tonight lasts only an hour.
Word count: 534 🖥
I highly doubt any of my teachers will ever see this but this isn’t based on my computer science teacher specifically. I do love computer science, I promise, but my goodness GCSE revision was rough.
The computer science classrooms always got stuffy in the summer. It was even worse after lunchtime, having no time to breathe after the fourty or so students trying to fit so they could finish their last minute homework or take paper from the printers for not-printing related matters had left. 14:10 was the last lesson of the day, and everyone in the room wished they had air conditioning.
Another lesson on something we all knew about. There was so much repetition around this time of the year. Exams loomed in the not-so-distant future so all the teachers were desperately trying to get the “vulnerable knowledge” locked into our heads. In our unfortunate case, that involved doing a quiz everyone got full marks on, reading information we already knew, and answering extended questions in a format we wouldn’t even be assessed on. It was the same every lesson. All the information blurred into one. What were we learning about today? Binary, again? Ha, if only. It was probably something irritatingly simple and mind-numbingly boring like secondary storage devices.
“You should not be talking,” the teacher said, even though nobody was talking. “I expect absolute silence,” they said, as if that were any different to any other day.
I looked away from the computer screen, giving my eyes a rest. Thankfully I had a window near my desk to look out of. The only thing I could see was the rest of the school grounds, but it was comforting nevertheless. I did love this subject, really. Computers amazed me. Forced revision wouldn’t change that. I could still go home and work on my own projects comfortably and sporadically without the pressure to work work work for an hour straight. Sometimes I would work for three hours without pause; other days I would struggle with ten minutes. School didn’t allow that freedom.
The room was getting restless, which usually meant there was around fifteen minutes left of the lesson. Sure enough, the clock read 14:55. That time was deceptive: it gave a false reassurance that the lesson would soon be over, even though a quarter of it remained. As usual, I’d got a lot done, but not as much as I expected to the standard I accepted. Some days I would kick into speedrun hyperfocus mode.
Today was not one of those days.
I sat there, the minutes dragging on, feebly typing something every now and again to look busy. I outlined the rest of my answers so I at least attempted everything, but oh no, I ran out of time to mark everything. What a tragedy. Not.
Finally, finally, the clock flicked to :08. Everyone began to pack away their things, eager to leave as soon as it hit ten past.
:09. The teacher said to have a nice weekend, then insisted we wait that final minute, even though we were all ready to leave. It was always like this: we were used to it, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. We stood in silent anticipation.
“Bye, Mx.! Have a good weekend!”
At last, we were free.
…At least, we would be after the locker rush was over.
I may or may not have written this while listening to Yue's "songs for when you're running out of oxygen in space" playlist cuz it just fits.
A faint beeping sound followed by an incoherent voice drummed in my ears, forcing my mind out of the darkness it had slipped into. My heavy lids struggle to open, offering only fogged images before me as I strained myself to get up. A groan fell from my lips at the jolt of pain that shot through my body, every muscle screaming out in agony.
Despite the unfortunate awareness of the pain I was in, at least the voice was clearer now, enough for me to tell who it belonged to.
“Cove…” I called out his name, reaching a trembling hand for the containment boxes that surrounded me and grabbing on as well as I could. My entire body strained to barely pull myself up and linger in place, draining me of whatever strength I had left.
I repeated his name as best I could manage, staggering forward only to collapse back onto the cold floor.
“Yes– Captain-Captain Wolf?” his voice glitched, sounding faint across the vacant cabin. Ah, so he too was struggling.
Cove went silent for a brief moment before his reply graced my ears. “One hour, captain”
I raised my head just enough to look over at the wide glass pane towering in front of me, showing me the great nothingness that met me on the other side. Once a magnificent sight to my naive little eyes, and now, still magnificent, but telling a far different story. No longer did the dark chasm of space hold wonder and adventure for me to explore, but rather fate and melancholy; a bitter farewell.
I took in a lungful of whatever oxygen remained before propping myself up on my arms and dragging my uncooperative legs towards the wall where I collapsed onto, finally able to rest someplace more comfortable.
“Record” I breathed out, tilting my head back against the cold metal that sustained my withering body.
“Affirma-ma-mative, Captain. Recording” his voice glitched again and somehow that saddened me more than my own ticking time.
I lingered in the eerie silence of my spaceship, accompanied only by the faint sizzling of the dying machines struggling to sustain my lifeline long enough to make me painfully aware of every passing minute.
“To whoever finds this… This is– Captain Halcyon Wolf of the uh– the Artemis Colony. It’s day… uh–” I winced in pain at the ache in my head and Cove ended up filling in for me.
“One thousand and sixty-four”
I nodded, uncaring of whether or not he was right. “I’m on a mission from planet Dion L90–” My wheezing lungs forced me to a stop, every word scratching against my throat, but I couldn’t stop. I had to finish my message. “I made it. There and back– I fulfilled my– mission, code: 9924…” The throbbing in my head interrupted me once again, aching every time I had to actually remember something.
“22.214.171.124.2.3.” Cove finished it for me. I suppose it made sense that an A.I would know numbers and dates better than me.
“I could go on… and on, about everything I found but– My time is running out… and I– I don’t know how much longer I can hold on” My eyes fluttered shut, my head resting against the wall behind me as I took another moment to catch my breath. “Everything hurts… so much and it’s so– so cold.” I shivered but was unable to even wrap my own arms around myself. Though what use was it anyway? My time was up… it was only a matter of moments now…
“I hope my work isn’t in vain… I hope– I hope that whoever finds this– can finish what I could not. And– and take care of Cove…” I smiled faintly at the thought of some young explorer like me back in the day finding this and fulfilling my mission.
It was a pleasant thought for a dying woman.
“May the stars guide your travels, explorer–” I let out a pained groan at the conclusion of the message, it wasn’t good but it would have to do. “Cove, end recording…” I waited until receiving the familiar beep to signify the conclusion before calling for him again.
“Make sure to keep that well– I… I won’t make it… but– you will”
A light flashed before me and as I looked over I was met with a vague humanoid figure standing before me. His silhouette flickered, his body barely visible in its holographic blue state but it was enough to satisfy me.
“Take care of whoever finds you– finds this…” I gestured vaguely at the ship, struggling more with every word, slurring them together into a hazy mess. “And Cove?”
“Yes, Captain?” his figure knelt down in front of me, his featureless face right in front of mine. I reached out for him and he reached for me but our hands never met. He simply passed right through me.
My hand fell limp on the ground and I followed it with a slight raspy laugh at the occurrence. “Oh… Cove, I love you– You’re the best friend I could’ve ever asked for…” I mustered the best smile I could, even if human emotes didn’t matter to him, I wanted him to see it; to know. “I’m lucky… to spend my last moments with you…”
“Captain, I-I-I already sent out the notice. They will come-come for you– Please don’t–”
“Not this time” I shook my head.
How come it’s the a.i who’s the hopeful one? I suppose that’s the blissful ignorance of death. It’s foreign to him, isn’t it? Or does he know what this means… Does it hurt him too? I hope not.
“How much… more…?”
He hesitated, for the first time since his creation, he actually hesitated. “Five min-minutes and twenty-three seconds, Captain”
“Call me Hal…”
I smiled. At least I could hear my own name one last time. At least it mattered to someone.
My body relaxed onto the surface sustaining me, every muscle easing out of the tension the ache held on me until now. I could no longer feel it. My lungs tried as well as they could but every breath came in shallow, one fainter than the other. I’m so tired… My eyes fluttered shut offering my mind the soothing darkness as it slipped away, engulfing me in the quiet.
He was a trickster, a scammer. Games were his specialty. He could lure anyone foolish enough to challenge him. This could make him bold, confident even. But when he saw the man with the long, silky black hair with those innocent eyes, he knew tonight would be a feast. He quickened his pace and made it to the market’s center. Straightening his robe and smoothing his hair, he tapped the man’s shoulder.
“My, beautiful sir, would you perhaps be interested in a game of chance? I shuffle the cards, you pick one and I guess what it is. If I win, I get to keep that gorgeous ruby ring, and if you win I’ll give you this”—he pulled out a bronze locket attached to a golden chain—”family heirloom of mine. Deal?” It was difficult to talk without looking into his eyes. A swirly mix of blue and green. A blue-y green. A green-y blue.
“Oh? You must think of me as—” He started, sounding almost angry. But he breathed and smiled—I would never forget that smile. “Fine, handsome. Let’s see what you can do. Frankly speaking, I’m excited. No one has asked me such a thing. Alright, do your magic.” He folded his hands and smirked.
I pull out the pack of cards and pretend to put a spell on them. My unofficial apprentice was an official apprentice and mentee of the witch Vaishnavi. I even spoke a few spells he told me. Perhaps the man knew I wasn’t a witch, but my pretending brought a laugh out of him, which reminded me of wind blowing through a paddy field. I proceed to shuffle the cards and make them dance with my fingers. The market was getting too crowded. It had only been a few mere days after the king died but it seemed markets ran regardless.
“Pretty boy, let’s go there. It’s more quiet, hm?” I tug on his shirt. He nods and we both rush to the dark corner, a sort of alley. I finished shuffling the cards and spread them out for him. “Pick one, I promise not to look.” I felt him tap a card and I knew I was going home with the ruby ring. I shuffled the cards and said this with an air of ominosity: “And your card is—!” I pull a card out, only to gasp so loud that someone from the market looks in.
The card he’d picked was a Queen of Hearts. But this card, it wasn’t even a proper card. It was a Knight of… Pentagons? My eyes shoot up to a smirking, handsome face. “You- How?- Huh?-'' I stutter, trying to sum my questions whilst battling my embarrassment.
“Is this your card?” He twirled his finger and from an empty hand emerged the Queen of Hearts. He flicked the card at me and walked out of the alley backwards. “Here, tomorrow, after the market’s closed. I’ll show you more tricks. Win against me, and I’ll tell you my name, Akavan!” He blended into the crowd and by the time I snapped out of that trance of humiliation, he was gone. So a challenge, was it? I will be waiting. After all, it was only a mere twenty four hours.
(( no matter how much i struggled with writing today, i refuse to give up now. I am in far too deep and I am COMMITTED.
if the narration seems frantic and doesn't make sense then that's exactly what I was going for; this was a mix between a character exercise and kind of dabbling in unreliable narrator territory to an extent ))
One hour. Marcus has to make it through one hour, and then everything else will work itself out. Life will be a breeze after this is over, but he's gotta fight for it first like he fights for everything he has left. Always fighting, always fighting, clawing for any chance at anything at all because he has to try his hardest if he wants to hope for anything just like the times have to fight to keep changing and time has to fight to keep moving. Thinking about the time makes his heart rate spike. Had to be some time around three in the morning for sure, for sure! For sure, it must be, because he can already feel that those empowered by this time have arrived. Spirits. Demons. Perhaps something even worse. The witching hour. Not every person believes in the supernatural, in the paranormal or otherworldly justifications behind the unexplained phenomenon of the otherwise natural and sensible world. But it would be wrong to argue that those who were superstitious of it were far and few in between, for that couldn't be farther from the truth. And of those believers, Marcus is part of the crowd that takes precautions against the unseen forces, by far, the most seriously. That's all a bunch of longer words just thrown together without much thought behind it. Marcus tends to talk like that a lot once he really starts rambling. Sometimes, he even comes up with his *own* words! Like sensical, derived from nonsensical and meaning the exact opposite! Does that make any sense? Not really! A word of sense not making sense itself is such a beautifully contradictory thing! Is it a word already, I wonder? Has someone else already done it? Well, if it was already a thing, maybe whoever came up with it should have tried a little harder to get recognition for it, and they can just suck it up now because it's his now and that's what Marcus had to do for his entire life and *he's* had things stolen from him and *he* didn't whine *nearly* as much, *did* he--!?
A loud *BANG* that may or may not be a product of his own mind snaps him away from that train of thought and gets him back to the more important track: defending himself out here where there's no other option than to fend off the demons alone that surely lurk here. The forest is dark, and cold, and the shadows cast over the area weave between the branches of the dying trees and fall lifeless to the ground. The weather is unforgiving. Not at all the best condition, but it's not as if Marcus had a choice in the matter, either. It was either he escaped right then and there or he'd *never* get out, and if he was gonna be stuck with the latter option *then so help me, why don't you just kill me now and get it over with!* He can hear them. Footsteps. They're faint, they're distant, but they're there, and it's the people and he knows it's the people because that's the kind of steps that only people make because people let themselves be heard even when they try not to. People fumble and make noise and shatter even if they don't want anyone to see. It's because people are stupid, so stupid. Well, Marcus is beyond that. He doesn't have time nor the energy nor the care to dwell on his own humanity in relation to all of these astonishing revelations, because he needs to dedicate all of that to running right now. And run, he does.
This is his only hope at ever living a life at all, so he's persistent. And he's tenacious. He won't let the hands that reach out from under the dirt grab his ankles, and he won't let the moon fall down to the earth itself to crush him in its weight, and he's not stopping when the stars start falling in brilliant blazes of light and fury, and he's not going to stop for the people who are yelling for him to come back and he isn't running slow enough for the eyes to even have time to track him down because they blink and he's gone, they blink, they blink, they blink, and it's always too much and it's never enough because it'll never not sting to keep their eyes open and they always know exactly where he is anyway and *he'll never let them reach him.* It'll take an hour to get out of these woods. An hour stands between Marcus and opportunity and safety and freedom. And he'll be damned if he lets some monster hellbent on taking that get to him before he gets out.
Holding the little tuxedo cat in your arms, you watch as he struggles to open his eyes and stare up at you. Those eyes are dull and sad now. And God, does it pain you to hear the little whimper that escapes him as he nuzzles his face against your arm. You had an hour to say goodbye before Cosmo would cross over the rainbow bridge. A fucking hour. How were you meant to say goodbye to him like that? He meowed and pawed at you until you lifted him higher. “Hey, Cosmo, shh, I know lil dude. You’re my pretty boy, you know that right? And you’ll always be that.” The kitten purred softly in recognition as though he understood and it made your heart ache even more. There was no way he didn’t know. You’d been sitting here, just holding them, for almost the entire hour as he slept because you couldn’t bear to wake him. So, now that he was awake and mostly aware, you had less than fifteen minutes to tell him goodbye before they’d put him down. And while you knew, in your heart, it was for his own good, it didn’t change how much it hurt. You traced your fingers idly down his face and scratched under his chin, listening to him purr against your hand in contentment. He wriggled in your hold until you loosened it to let him sink his claws into your shirt. It seemed as though his whole body shook as he clung to you, whimpering like he was begging you to fix this. “I know… I’m so, so sorry, Cosmo. I was meant to protect you but I couldn’t save you from this. I couldn’t stop a disease I never knew you had from snatching you from me when I least expected it. Shh…” You rub the side of his face gently as you slowly detach him from your shirt and lay him in your arms again. He’s so tired of all of this, and God you wish you could’ve prevented it. He’s your little buddy. Your Cosmo. “Ma’am…? It’s time. Would you like to stay in the room with him as it’s done?” “Yeah. Yeah, I can’t just— just leave him.” Your veterinarian didn’t say anything in response, instead just offering you a faint smile and reaching for the prepped syringe. “You’re going somewhere where everything will be okay again, Cosmo. It won’t hurt anymore, okay?” He mewled in response, stretching his paws out to reach for you as you gently placed him on the metal table. Your time with this little gem of a cat was coming to an end. You held his paws as his eyes fluttered closed and his body stilled. God, an hour to say goodbye hadn’t been enough. But he was gone now, prancing across the rainbow bridge to his new home.
A lot can happen in an hour.
There are only 24 in a day, and at least eight should be spent in deep sleep. Deciding what’s the most productive way to spend each one I spend awake is something that I’ve found difficulty in since I was small. I could read a couple dozen pages of the books I’ve been piling up on the shelf, all unread. Similarly, I can catch up on two or three episodes of those shows everyone’s been recommending to me but I never bother to watch. If I really wanted to be productive, I could dedicate an hour to catching up on the weekly homework assignments that make me dread Sundays.
The fact that I’m writing this journal entry and unironically calling it a submission for Consistency should say a lot about how I actually spend my hours of the day. There’s no way I’ll be able to get my eight hours of sleep by the time I’m meant to get up for my workout routine tomorrow.
No, you could easily say that I’m working out already. What’s the inherent difference between spending an hour typing words on a screen and jogging on a treadmill for the same amount of time? Actually, never mind, there’s a lot of them. Typing doesn’t burn nearly as many calories and I won’t gain any more muscle from coming up with creative ideas to express myself, but by that logic, I’m not really developing my creativity by jogging on a treadmill, either…
I apologize for the pun, but it’s more an issue of consistency than anything else. Healthy habits are the foundation of a healthy lifestyle, and strengthening the mind is just as important as strengthening the body. (I wouldn’t recommend blocking out time at 1 in the morning to start typing away or working out, so please don’t follow my example this way!)
That being said, blocking out an hour or so a day to spit words on a blank page has been a great way for me to practice setting goals for myself. I recognize that I need to spend more time fine-tuning my schedule, since I feel like I don’t dedicate enough time to the people and places I care about. That’s kind of why I like to push the idea of forming habits like working out or writing daily. Even if it’s just 300 words a day, or even less, and even if it’s just words on a page written for the sake of having them written, what’s important is developing the habit of creating habits, and that’s a skill I could really use for my day-to-day.
The disease has been spreading rapidly. It’s hit Asia, Europe, Africa, South America, and now it’s worming its way through North America. They’ve said overpopulation is a problem, well, it isn’t anymore. And it’s only been five months.
A country’s lucky if it remains a quarter of their population after the virus has swept over its lands. The Standing-Man Killer—that’s what they called the disease—infected most, and very close to all people who have it die.
I’m terrified. My cousins have already gotten it and died, and so have my uncles and aunts. Two of my friends died this month.
School’d been cancelled for the past two months, and rightfully so. Getting an education would’ve killed us. In person anyway. And with all these losses, people dropping left and right, online school just can’t be a thing.
It’s the most contagious virus yet. If you breathe any contaminated air, you get it, no matter what. Immediately. But you don’t know you have it, and that’s what kills you.
It’s called the Standing-Man Killer for a reason: people with the disease drop dead if they stand. My parents have made it mandatory to be sitting at all times, just in case. At least, they make it mandatory for me. Mom risks her life walking to the kitchen to make toast or grab a soda. We’d gotten rid of the couches and replaced them with toilets, and we installed curtains around them. Privacy and safety all at once.
I should think it’s ridiculous. I should argue and be rebellious like all teenagers and say, “I don’t want to sit on a toilet for the rest of my life!” But I can’t help wanting to stay safe, after all that’s happened. One day the virus will pass, hopefully, and we’ll be able to stand again.
After a month of sitting on a toilet, while I’m eating a peanut butter sandwich and watching the news, they announce the Standing-Man Killer has been eradicated. Apparently everyone’s either died or stayed sheltered and are okay!
“Haha!” I laugh in joy. “Does this mean we can get back to our lives now?”
Except no one answers my question. “Mom,” I call out to her, as she’s standing in the kitchen. She’s always complaining she can’t hear me when she’s in the kitchen. “They say the virus is no more!”
I set my sandwich on the floor. “MOM! DAD?”
I hear a loud thump.
I jump to my feet, my heart speeding up. The virus is over. The virus is over. I can stand. Mom and Dad are fine. Standing isn’t dangerous. I take a wobbly step, then two. I break out into a run, my legs finding it easier to adjust to being up than I thought they would be.
And as I see them in the kitchen, I stop breathing. No, I hyperventilate. This can’t be happening. They’re not…
I let out a bloodcurdling scream and fall to the floor, shake my parents, beg them to wake up. But they won’t wake up because they’re dead and the Standing-Man Killer has killed them. But that’s impossible because it’s over…the disease is supposed to be gone…But if it’s not then—
I collapse face-first onto the floor, because the virus has gotten me too.
It was 11pm. She stood atop the cliff, overlooking the vast forest below. Staring up at the night sky, she tried to locate her favorite stars, a gentle smile across her lips. The wind caused her hair to flutter behind her, the chill from it causing her to wrap her hands around herself. Several minutes passed with her just looking at the night sky. Behind her, her boyfriend was trying to build a small fire to keep them warm. A few minutes pass again, and he is able to successfully get a small fire going. Calling her over, both sit by the fire, a blanket draped over their shoulders. Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she wraps her hands around his waist. “I am so excited to see this meteor shower”
“I know. I am excited too, more because I know how much you wanted to see one, and getting to share in this experience with you is just so special.”
“Thank you for finding out about this.”
Checking his watch, he sees it is 11:10PM. He pulls his laptop closer that had been lying beside him. Clicking onto the website that was live tracking the meteor shower, he saw that the timer for their location still had 10 more minutes to go.
Seeing that he has time, he gets up and grabs a bag of marshmallows and wooden skewers from the trunk of his car. Coming back, he hands them to her, re-joining her on the ground under the blanket. Tearing open both bags, they get to assembling small marshmallow skewers. Roasting them over the fire, they sit in silence, just enjoying being beside each other. Soon, his phone and computer both alert him to the fact that it is time.
Nudging her, he points to the night sky. Slowly but surely, bright sparks show up in the sky. Soon, enough, the sky is filled with meteors, lighting the night sky up, making it so bright that the stars become hard to see. He turns to face her and sees her awestricken face, wonder dancing in her eyes. She closes her eyes, hands clasped together, wishing upon them.
Sitting on the ground, cuddled together, they spend the next few minutes just enjoying the view of the meteor shower, with her slowly falling asleep on him. He gets up and picks her up bridal style gently, carrying her to his car and depositing her into the seat. Buckling her in, he sees the clock in his car reads midnight. Smiling, he turns to go around to the driver’s side of the car. Before getting in, he turns around, closing his eyes, clasping his hands, sending out his own wish seeing that the meteor shower is still ongoing. He wishes to spend every day with her like the past hour, just enjoying the simplicity of life.