Status: Completed
Lady in Waiting
Always Waiting
Tifa knew something was wrong. Whether it was the unoccupied seat that screamed for it’s missing host, or the impenetrable communication via cell-phone; she did not know.
However one thing was for sure – Cloud is not ok.
Notions. Foreboding. Every possible scenario played-back over and over again in the morbid depths of Tifa’s imagination. And ever outcome ending the same – tragedy.
Tifa’s slender and pale hover over the phone. Metaphorically, you could liken her hand to a snake hover over it’s pray. Both searching for a remedy for their insatiable needs.
Robotically she dials the number she’s committed to memory. So often was it she called, that the six digits of his number were faded from the keys of the phone. 8,2,3,9,7,6 – were nothing but tiny glowing masses on the phone.
Three rings followed by a deep monotone voicemail – the voice in question, exhales before the beep.
“Oh Cloud, where are you?” An I miss you was threaten to escape the thin, off-pink, crevices of her lips. But no, she would not voice out vulnerability.
And with that she pressed that damn red button.
She tries to reason with herself – but to no avail. The constant self-harangue could not satisfy the nagging assumptions of Clouds doom.
Her friend is in trouble, she just knew it. She felt it as her own suffering.
However one thing was for sure – Cloud is not ok.
Notions. Foreboding. Every possible scenario played-back over and over again in the morbid depths of Tifa’s imagination. And ever outcome ending the same – tragedy.
Tifa’s slender and pale hover over the phone. Metaphorically, you could liken her hand to a snake hover over it’s pray. Both searching for a remedy for their insatiable needs.
Robotically she dials the number she’s committed to memory. So often was it she called, that the six digits of his number were faded from the keys of the phone. 8,2,3,9,7,6 – were nothing but tiny glowing masses on the phone.
Three rings followed by a deep monotone voicemail – the voice in question, exhales before the beep.
“Oh Cloud, where are you?” An I miss you was threaten to escape the thin, off-pink, crevices of her lips. But no, she would not voice out vulnerability.
And with that she pressed that damn red button.
She tries to reason with herself – but to no avail. The constant self-harangue could not satisfy the nagging assumptions of Clouds doom.
Her friend is in trouble, she just knew it. She felt it as her own suffering.