If I move, she’ll see me, so here I sit. I haven’t moved in what seems like years, neither has she. My body lays here, waiting for her to adjust. She blinks, but too fast. I never have time to move. She just sits, and I sit, waiting for one of us to move. The sun goes up and down, I hear noises in the distance, snow falls gently on our heads. From what I can hear, they’re covering the reactor in concrete. Workers approach us, chatting of the nuclear reactor. Today, a young man came to us. He called us statues, if only he knew. He set sticks of dynamite next to us.
Were they going to blow us up? I knew that, if I didn’t want to die, I’d have to move. If I moved, she’d kill me.
The young man, blonde with large muscles and a yellow hard hat, shouted to his buddy behind him, “Boss said we can just blow em’ up.” His buddy, a man in his fifties with a name tag on his yellow coat reading “Esteban”, scuttled forward, hands in his pocket. Hot sun beat down on my face, I must’ve been sweating profusely. When would these idiots leave? I had to move. I couldn’t go out like this. The two men, I assumed they were workers, uncoiled a long wire, and walked off.
They were exploding us? I had to move!
I twisted my body, trying to stand, but I couldn’t move. My breaths became more rushed, my heart beat fast. I tried to move my legs, to no avail. I took a deep of a breath as I could. I closed my eyes for about ten seconds. If I couldn’t make it away, could she? I opened my eyes, and she was still there. She seemed to be crying, but I was so far away that I couldn’t tell for sure. We both closed our eyes as the worker men started counting down from twenty.
In my last moments, at the end of that countdown, only my spirit remained. As bits of plaster and ceramic flew off my body, and workers cheered for our demise, I finally was able.
Able to move.
