jstankiewicz2010
She reached across his chest and pulled off the small string from his shoulder. Then her hand returned to it's place next to his.
Laying the clay blocks one by one he slowly built the foundation for his future home. Just like how he slowly built his reputation throughout his life though struggles, leading by example, and by being the best man he could possibly be.
The chair shook back and forth, her legs bent awkwardly to avoid falling while she tried to align the picture correctly. She always had a problem with crooked pictures.
Slowly walking through the corridor he could hear his ever step reverberating off the cold cobblestones. His breath came out in slow hot puffs, miniature clouds that would disappear in moments.
He walked the same route everyday, paying no attention to the various shops and people along it. For some reason on this particular day a piece of jewelry caught his eye. Digging into the scraps of his wallet he scrounged up barely enough to take it back home.
Slowly her family members entered the room with solemn faces. The machines beeped in the corner, a rhythm of her life. Slowly they all clasped hands and bowed their heads. She may only have a month to live, but they would make it the best month of her life.
He walked down the hallway, books held close to his chest, with a hold not quite unlike a death grip. There he saw her, standing at her locker like she did everyday, and as he passed he looked away and made himself as small as possible. He would never be seen in her eyes.
He sat alone in a dusty room, full of old wonders from his late gandfather's years past. He ran his hand over the old, dusty and tarnished table, and wondered just what things and events this humble table had been a part of.
Suddenly time stood still. Breathing was a battle in itself. The car came at him with surprising speed, as everything else had slowed to a stop. As it hurtled toward him, he realized it would just barely miss him. If he hadn't have fallen a second earlier, he would die today.