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31_days2005-08-04 12:29 am
songwthoutwords.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-08-04 12:29 am
[August 4] [Original] Iceland
Title: Iceland
Day/Theme: August 4/She left her life on Monday
Series: Original fiction
Character/Pairing: N/A
Rating: G
It was two years ago. Exact.
The house was quiet. That early morning kind of quiet. The peaceful quiet. Everyone asleep in their beds, oblivious to the sun peeking over the edge of the world to look in their windows. That kind of quiet.
No one heard the shirts and pants as they were rolled and delicately placed in the duffle bag. Nor did they hear the money tin, nestled secretly amid the clothing.
It was the kind of quiet where all the little sounds, like the birds outside, the sound of a duffle bag’s zipper, they just make you want to sleep even more. It was that kind of quiet.
Nobody heard the window open. Its soft scrape. It was all just that quiet business of the morning. Such a peaceful quiet.
Nobody heard the taxi as it pulled up to the house. Its door open. The gentle sound it makes from the sudden weight of a new person.
No one heard it drive away.
It wasn’t until three hours later, just as the plane was departing, that they noticed something was missing. They didn’t hear the sound of the plane’s engines, they just heard a steady drip from the coffee maker. They just heard a voice:
“Honey, it’s time to wake up.”
They just heard the bedroom door creak open. The sounds of nature outside the bedroom window.
“Where is she?”
They just heard the soft russle of a paper being lifted off the bed. It’s written words mumbled aloud:
“I’ve gone. Don’t try to find me. Goodbye everyone.”
It was Monday, August 4th, 2003. Two years ago. Exact.
She left her life on a Monday, and found a new one Tuesday.
Day/Theme: August 4/She left her life on Monday
Series: Original fiction
Character/Pairing: N/A
Rating: G
It was two years ago. Exact.
The house was quiet. That early morning kind of quiet. The peaceful quiet. Everyone asleep in their beds, oblivious to the sun peeking over the edge of the world to look in their windows. That kind of quiet.
No one heard the shirts and pants as they were rolled and delicately placed in the duffle bag. Nor did they hear the money tin, nestled secretly amid the clothing.
It was the kind of quiet where all the little sounds, like the birds outside, the sound of a duffle bag’s zipper, they just make you want to sleep even more. It was that kind of quiet.
Nobody heard the window open. Its soft scrape. It was all just that quiet business of the morning. Such a peaceful quiet.
Nobody heard the taxi as it pulled up to the house. Its door open. The gentle sound it makes from the sudden weight of a new person.
No one heard it drive away.
It wasn’t until three hours later, just as the plane was departing, that they noticed something was missing. They didn’t hear the sound of the plane’s engines, they just heard a steady drip from the coffee maker. They just heard a voice:
“Honey, it’s time to wake up.”
They just heard the bedroom door creak open. The sounds of nature outside the bedroom window.
“Where is she?”
They just heard the soft russle of a paper being lifted off the bed. It’s written words mumbled aloud:
“I’ve gone. Don’t try to find me. Goodbye everyone.”
It was Monday, August 4th, 2003. Two years ago. Exact.
She left her life on a Monday, and found a new one Tuesday.