{original} 168 hours
168 hours
g, for brigits_flame
The end is coming. They pretend it isn't.
7. The first day of summer vacation (and, really, the seventh-last day of the world) starts like any normal weekend.
"What's the story, morning glory?" he asks her as they meet on the corner of the street, underneath the bus stop sign for the bus that is always late.
"What the hell?" she replies, raising an eyebrow; crossing her arms.
"Yeah, I didn't think it would work," he says, sighing.
"A simple good morning would've been fine," she tells him, teasing.
6. It's the second day of summer vacation and they are both (already) bored. It seems as if there is nothing left to do; despite the fact that this is one of those times in which you'd want to do everything you never got to do before the end.
"It's like when your birthday is coming up and everyone asks you what you want," she says. "But you can't think of anything you really do want."
They end up spending the afternoon on the swings at the local park. It's empty without the neighbourhood children (who are, most likely, at home with their families as they should be). They don't mind; it means they can finally get a proper swing this time instead of trying to use the baby ones.
"It feels like a waste," she says. "Playgrounds are meant to be played on. This one must be sad."
"It'll be gone soon anyways," he replies. "Then it won't be sad anymore."
5. They find a pair of bikes in his garage, gross and dirty and musty-smelling but still one of the coolest finds ever.
("How did you not know these were there?" she asks as they hose them down, letting them dry in the sun afterwards.)
"Think of the places we could go," he says. "The world could be totally different."
"It's too bad a lot of places are closed," she says. "Remember how we used to say that one day, when we had lunch and then a spare, we'd go explore the road that our school was on?"
"You want to go?"
"Yeah."
They go, walking their hastily-refurbished bikes down the road, pointing out this or that shop that looks interesting, and going past the few shops they've been to before into uncharted territory.
(Before, they'd be worried about getting back to school in time.
Now, they are free to look around to their hearts' content.)
It's a shame that all the stores are closed.
4. They hang out at her house, marathon old seasons of dramas and reality TV, catch up on things they've always said they wanted to watch but never had the time to.
"It's too bad that they're weekly," she points out. "I hate having to wait."
"But it ups the suspense," he replies. "It makes more sense that way."
"If you only have three days left," she says, "then you can't wait a week for anything."
"If you think you wait a week, and I think you wait a week, then you've waited a week," he tells her.
"Alright then," she says. "We'll pretend that we have all the time in the world left."
"Not pretend," he corrects, "know."
3. She goes over to his place and they spend the day cleaning his room, packing everything into boxes that they got from office supply stores and the supermarket that makes you pack your own stuff into their old boxes. (How cheap of them, they realize midway through.)
"It feels like you can breathe again," he says after everything is stacked up neatly against the wall and put in its now-proper place.
"And walk," she says. "Your floor wasn't visible before."
"We'll clean your room tomorrow," he says, changing the subject.
2. On the second last day of the world, their parents make them stay home with the family.
1. They get up at five in the morning, just as the sun is rising, and meet on the corner of the street, underneath the bus stop sign for the bus that is always late (like they used to when they still had practice in the morning and still walked to school).
"Where do you want to go today?" he asks.
"Doesn't matter," she answer.
They part, late in the evening, as if they'll see each other again tomorrow.
0. They don't wake up to see the next morning.
g, for brigits_flame
The end is coming. They pretend it isn't.
7. The first day of summer vacation (and, really, the seventh-last day of the world) starts like any normal weekend.
"What's the story, morning glory?" he asks her as they meet on the corner of the street, underneath the bus stop sign for the bus that is always late.
"What the hell?" she replies, raising an eyebrow; crossing her arms.
"Yeah, I didn't think it would work," he says, sighing.
"A simple good morning would've been fine," she tells him, teasing.
6. It's the second day of summer vacation and they are both (already) bored. It seems as if there is nothing left to do; despite the fact that this is one of those times in which you'd want to do everything you never got to do before the end.
"It's like when your birthday is coming up and everyone asks you what you want," she says. "But you can't think of anything you really do want."
They end up spending the afternoon on the swings at the local park. It's empty without the neighbourhood children (who are, most likely, at home with their families as they should be). They don't mind; it means they can finally get a proper swing this time instead of trying to use the baby ones.
"It feels like a waste," she says. "Playgrounds are meant to be played on. This one must be sad."
"It'll be gone soon anyways," he replies. "Then it won't be sad anymore."
5. They find a pair of bikes in his garage, gross and dirty and musty-smelling but still one of the coolest finds ever.
("How did you not know these were there?" she asks as they hose them down, letting them dry in the sun afterwards.)
"Think of the places we could go," he says. "The world could be totally different."
"It's too bad a lot of places are closed," she says. "Remember how we used to say that one day, when we had lunch and then a spare, we'd go explore the road that our school was on?"
"You want to go?"
"Yeah."
They go, walking their hastily-refurbished bikes down the road, pointing out this or that shop that looks interesting, and going past the few shops they've been to before into uncharted territory.
(Before, they'd be worried about getting back to school in time.
Now, they are free to look around to their hearts' content.)
It's a shame that all the stores are closed.
4. They hang out at her house, marathon old seasons of dramas and reality TV, catch up on things they've always said they wanted to watch but never had the time to.
"It's too bad that they're weekly," she points out. "I hate having to wait."
"But it ups the suspense," he replies. "It makes more sense that way."
"If you only have three days left," she says, "then you can't wait a week for anything."
"If you think you wait a week, and I think you wait a week, then you've waited a week," he tells her.
"Alright then," she says. "We'll pretend that we have all the time in the world left."
"Not pretend," he corrects, "know."
3. She goes over to his place and they spend the day cleaning his room, packing everything into boxes that they got from office supply stores and the supermarket that makes you pack your own stuff into their old boxes. (How cheap of them, they realize midway through.)
"It feels like you can breathe again," he says after everything is stacked up neatly against the wall and put in its now-proper place.
"And walk," she says. "Your floor wasn't visible before."
"We'll clean your room tomorrow," he says, changing the subject.
2. On the second last day of the world, their parents make them stay home with the family.
1. They get up at five in the morning, just as the sun is rising, and meet on the corner of the street, underneath the bus stop sign for the bus that is always late (like they used to when they still had practice in the morning and still walked to school).
"Where do you want to go today?" he asks.
"Doesn't matter," she answer.
They part, late in the evening, as if they'll see each other again tomorrow.
0. They don't wake up to see the next morning.