Killing Time

Some memories leave a stain. Others slip from the edges of your mind before you notice. I don’t remember the last thing my wife said to me. It was a Monday, but I can’t hear her voice as she cooed back to me. How could I not remember the sound of her voice? Only how it felt to be consumed by her eyes, the feeling of her warm breath on my neck. She was the brave one.

I tethered my sanity to the thought of getting back to her. Finding a piece of metal in the yard catalyzed a plan. I thought about her every night while manipulating the shard into something usable. I learned every crevice of my door, forcing my lock-pick through until I heard that euphoric click.

With sweat dripping down my forehead and trembling hands, I opened the heavy door. Light seared my eyes as I blinked them to reveal an unrecognizable wasteland. I could hear the thundering boots of the guards nearing up behind me, so I broke out into a full sprint. My feet kicking up clouds in the black dirt.

“Wait! Please!” A voice pierced the air.

“We know where your wife is.”