you run in my veins (i've been wasting all my days on you)
They sit with their right arms out, wrist up, staring down at the numbers embedded in the veins. The woman only has one, a solitary zero staring back unflinchingly, wavering slightly as the blood rushes underneath her paper thin skin. The child has several, a long line so much so that it encompasses his tiny wrist, and the numbers change often, unable to stick at a fixed point. In the woman’s other hand, she holds a leather bracelet, faded and scratched, so tight her knuckles are ivory.
The numbers serve little else but as a boast that you have someone out there waiting for you. Unfortunately for Steve, according to the numbers embedded on his wrist, he has ninety six years to go.
The day the world eclipsed
The day the world eclipsed