Stacey had gotten off work. The doors closed and the sound of her keys got more distant with each step.
I started counting. You would usually show up by the time I reached one hundred.
"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred." I waited.
Nothing.
I furrowed my brows. "One hundred and one, one hundred and two..." When I reached two hundred, the doors were still shut.
That was weird. It wasn't like you. You were never late.
I suddenly remembered that we still had a celebration to do. Maybe you were planning something for me. I eased myself back onto the bed and continued counting.
"Two hundred and ninety-eight, two hundred and ninety-nine, three hundred," I paused. Still nothing. "Three hundred and one, three hundred and two..."
I stopped at two thousand.
YOU ARE READING
00:00 ✓
Short StoryAt 00:00, Cinderella ran away from her prince, leaving a glass slipper on the marbled steps of the grand staircase. At 00:00, I ran away from him. Unlike Cinderella, I didn't leave a single thing behind. © sonderingly
