by Andrew David King
The wind pushes back the blue curtain with the agility of an ocean wave, rubbing its fabric in the warm sheen of the sun. Aside for the scribble of his pen on the paper, the only sound is complete and utter silence. It's been another day of sheer repetition, and he fears that she will never find him, although part of him is content if he remains undiscovered, unknown to the world for the rest of his life. The quietude is shattered into a million tiny pieces as she slams open the door to the room, chest heaving, air flowing raspingly through her throat. "I've been looking everywhere for you," she mutters, eyes scanning the carpet for something to pay attention to, anything besides him. "Truth is," he says, catching her eyes with his own, "I've always been right here."
Andrew David King is a writer from Fremont, California. He has been published in numerous in-print and online publications, as well as alongside authors Ursula K. Le Guin, Luis J. Rodriguez, and others.