I gripped the hand tightly. I drank in its warmth. No. Its life. Letting go was the last thing on my mind, and yet I had to.
The sun poured through the open window and onto my back. Hot, I was too hot. I could move, but that would mean letting go. The hand itself was growing warmer. It was probably too hot now. I loosened my grip, only to let it cool down. The hand started slipping. Frantically I grasped tighter, lunging to catch it before the rest slipped away. The fingers were the only things left in my grip.
It was difficult to imagine better fingers. They were smooth and gentle, yet strong. Strong enough to remain after the rest of the hand had gone. Behind me, loud noises caught my attention. They promised change. Something different from the fingers. I couldn't let go. Not now, it was too soon.
The sounds from the window became unbearable. I glanced over my shoulder, shouting for them to stop. They did. Smiling to myself, I turned back to the fingers. They were gone. What had I done? How did they slip away?
I broke down, cried, and stared at the empty air. The hand and all of its fingers had vanished. At least the noises were silent, but the window was still open. I got up to shut the window. For good. Just as my hand reached the glass, I hesitated.
Tentatively, I turned. Back to where the hand used to be. I knew it didn't exist anymore, but I still wanted to hold on. The sounds from the window called again. This time with music. Maybe I won't shut the window just yet.
The sun poured through the open window and onto my back. Hot, I was too hot. I could move, but that would mean letting go. The hand itself was growing warmer. It was probably too hot now. I loosened my grip, only to let it cool down. The hand started slipping. Frantically I grasped tighter, lunging to catch it before the rest slipped away. The fingers were the only things left in my grip.
It was difficult to imagine better fingers. They were smooth and gentle, yet strong. Strong enough to remain after the rest of the hand had gone. Behind me, loud noises caught my attention. They promised change. Something different from the fingers. I couldn't let go. Not now, it was too soon.
The sounds from the window became unbearable. I glanced over my shoulder, shouting for them to stop. They did. Smiling to myself, I turned back to the fingers. They were gone. What had I done? How did they slip away?
I broke down, cried, and stared at the empty air. The hand and all of its fingers had vanished. At least the noises were silent, but the window was still open. I got up to shut the window. For good. Just as my hand reached the glass, I hesitated.
Tentatively, I turned. Back to where the hand used to be. I knew it didn't exist anymore, but I still wanted to hold on. The sounds from the window called again. This time with music. Maybe I won't shut the window just yet.
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