The Time Storm

The weather outside the large window was horrendous – bright, yet hailing. It contrasted deeply with the skylight, which let in a clear blue sky with waning light. The time pocket was right on top of her, it seemed. She held her children and waited.

Both of them were sleeping. Her youngest had cried herself out, though she was unsure whether the baby’s distress came at all from the situation or simply because she tended to fuss at all times for attention. Her older daughter had stayed awake for longer, quietly waiting along with her mother, taking strength from her mother’s calmness. Or so it seemed. Her mother felt as though she was truly taking strength from her daughter.

Neither view of the outside was what it had been a mere ten minutes before. It should have been night. They should have been at home, not waiting through this storm in an unfamiliar place, eerie with strangeness.

“Mama?”

“Yes, love?”

Her tired eldest took her hand and squeezed it. She returned the gesture.

At least they were safe in here. At least they were safe.

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