That one wisp of hair always blocks her view at the most inopportune time. Morning dew soaks through to her stomach as she peers over the vast expanse surrounding this plateau. Laying on her stomach and propped up on her elbows, she waits Immobile, scanning the countryside through a scope atop her rifle.
It has been years since she has seen another human being. No talking. No touching. No Interaction whatsoever has left her feeling frayed. Often she becomes engulfed in lucid daydreams of an alternate past that would have ; could have, if only this did not happen. In those never realised past memories she is with her beloved Jethro, in the new city. It glistens and It sparkles as all new things do. They go from street corner to street corner moving through the endless stream of peoples hustling and bustling about, as they once did. In these dreams she sees all of their faces, their living faces. Some are in their commute rush, no nonsense, I gotta get to where I’m going mode. Others sleepily walking as if just awakened moments before. You have the few grumblers mixed in and looking as if they might bite your head off: figuratively speaking of course. Again and again she can’t help thinking how pleasant and wonderful it was to look into all those faces. In these memories that will never be it is always the same, it’s like when she was a teenager growing up with her two younger brothers and she woke to that rare morning where everything they did was adorable. No rude comment or snide remark or trespass of any kind could shake her love of those two. The undying and infinite affection that was so clear on those rare mornings lays the undercurrent of emotion in these daydreams. She feels a sense of kinship with her lost neighbors.
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