Re: The Widow/The Nothing
They had nothing against labels. They thought maybe they even liked them, but they didn't possess any. They should've been more upset about that, but they weren't. The only thing they had a real issue with was the void beneath their ribs. There something was supposed to beat for another person, but it didn't. It didn't beat at all, which was a bummer. They'd liked thrum and being and loving. They thought they still felt love, but it was a far thing on a distant shore. Maybe there was a green light illuminating a dock somewhere, just waiting to be found on a foggy night.
Where the world had once been chapters, it was now comprised entirely of footnotes. Footnotes were small and they were never the main story. Even when people were witty and told tales in tiny text, it was never the main thing. This was a footnote. Everything was a footnote. They didn't like that very much, but they also wondered what they could build out of such tiny pieces of words.
They noticed the hands and almost helpfully recommended a brand of lotion, but they found the name of the brand slipping away like a wisp. Ah well. "I want to be headed somewhere," they finally said. They were tall and narrow in their chair, and they crossed a thigh atop a thigh. "I'm not sure now. Stuck is a good word, isn't it? It sounds like what it is. It sounds like it has no give," they mused. "I don't know. Back or forth, I'm not sure which is me, and I don't want to take a wrong turn. Why aren't you sure now? Was the train stopping an omen for you?" they asked, motioning to the veil and assuming death had touched the woman with the old hands. They believed in omens. The nothing believed in omens very much.