It was an everything room in a nothing second. Sun filtered through curtains as they would every other day, because it was just another day, after all. Why didn’t the sun cave in on itself, and why didn’t the sky crush them all?
All of the noises sounded like they were behind a wall, even though they were only behind a coffee table and a stack of Sunday newspapers.
No matter what anyone thought, it was just another day; a robbery of Time that no one outside of the orange walls and the phone line would care to know. Time stood on the doorstep with his pockets turned out before he shrugged and waved, walking away. The phone was constantly ringing. Two rings only, no more. The air was suffocating with medication and hot tears condensing on the glass figurines in the cabinets.
One child was sitting between the couch cushions, and hiding behind the paper reading Garfield. Had ever someone’s eyes been so intensely studying the Sunday comics? Every furrow and every crease in ink lines were so interesting now, instead of the turning fan that offered to drown it out, but stayed silent.
Eight were in the room, two of them the same person in two places. Five of them did not notice the moment.
And then the moment was over, and the child was swallowed into the couch to hide from an imploding sun and a crushing sky. It was so much easier to hide than to meet with others’ nonchalance on the swings later.
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