Tick, Tick, Tick
Tick, tick, tick. The pump added the dollars on to the gas gauge steadily, and he watched silently. He had his cap pulled low, his coat fastened to his chin, his face obscured. He had to. It was raining, he noticed, as a background thought. He felt moisture fall down his face, rain drops mixing with his own tears as he wept to himself.
How had he got here? How had his life managed to peak and trough so drastically? He had met Petra overseas and their stories had intertwined, their lives intermingling in a tale as old as time, their love progressing at an infuriatingly slow rate due to the language barrier, but ten years and three kids later their life was set.
Why was she taken so young? Why, after enduring the most heart breaking event of his life, was he blamed? Not even suspected, but wanted for her departure. He couldn’t understand why she jumped, and he understood even less why all fingers were pointed at him.
Tick, tick, tick. Steady. Rhythmic. At least he could watch the numbers rise predictably, even as all else crumbled. He could see the clerk craning his neck for a better look, and knew his time was coming to an end. He sighed, and let the pump fall to the floor. He heard the sirens before he saw the lights.
He was drenched. Rain, tears, gasoline. He pulled his Zippo from his pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. He could be with her soon, and ask her why.
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