Warnings: Adult content, underage character.
Theme: Word - dig
They are laying like lovers under the stars, though Anju is sure this makes her a whore or something worse to lie with a boy this young, but here they are, two centerpieces in the timework clock, watching the world fall apart.
"What do you think of the moon," she asks, as if it matters, as if anything put on this green, writhing mess of existence matters, and she puts a hand over his heart to pretend or maybe feel it still beating. She isn't sure what it is alive at this point, so close to the end, and 'it's only by uncertain means that we call exist at all,' she thinks, and the certainty of that assertion is what renders it nothing at the final stroke of midnight.
"I think of God," the little boy-who-is-not says because he is thinking of things whole and consuming, "I think of God swallowing me up and that is the way it is meant to be, I think. To live twice is nothing divine, and so it always falls apart."
"This is the world that is mine," he continues, because words are his new weapons, sharp and precise and they dig at the core of human non-existence, "We are in this moment, and I am your man unto you, your husband in arms when the call of time-ending comes, won't walk by my side in this apocalypse with me?"
"Nobody should face the world without clocks alone," Anju says, because that is what everybody fears most - an existence without time, without ticking, without patience. Nobody is born not waiting for death, but God, God, that is how love exists - a matter of timing and chance and patience; every good thing must end, and she is glad that this boy-Hero is by her side, this little failure of scripture and prophecy, so that all of her minuscule miscalculations can add up to zero by his side.
"The clock is ticking," he breaths against her neck, and Anju can do nothing but spread her thighs and pray for God and wish for a world beyond this world where ticking never stops.