Proselia Spontenaium
It was overdue, she decided.
So without word to anyone, she packed up an apple, two bags of potato chips, and a bottle of water and tossed it into her cargo bag. Her heart quickened. She closed her eyes to breathe and focus for a moment. To delay was not an option, as she’d been too kindred with enertia, and now there was no margin for hesitancy.
Racing down the stairs of her apartment, her keys jingled gently in her hand and against her thigh. She walked out the door, closed the gate behind her, and whirled off towards her car.
Her eyes dartied between traffic and the car clock as she quickly calculated the time it would take. 20 minutes to the airport. 45 minutes to boarding. 6 hours until she could deplane. And then another two before the storm.
Yes, a quick calculation told her that she’d be there in time. And she had enough rage and sorrow between the NIN and Tracy Chapman on her Ipod to take her through.
She was ready.
Since the last time, she had changed. She didn’t notice it at first, though now her knuckles and shoulders cracked without warning and her hair had started flirting with silver. Looking at herself this morning, stunned at the mirror, she wondered when it had happened. This listlessness. Mediocrity. Dispirited languor and stupor.
As she drove towards the airport and checked in, visual sequences and splendor and conversation memories from her past looped over and over again, gradually distilling themselves from a diaphenous haze into startling crystaline clarity.
Yes, it was then.
That small moment when she…
And then it was gone. And that was good. Very good.
Her heart quickened again, and then became calm.
Time raced for her.
Her calculations were impecable and she was home precisely two hours before the clouds converged in a somber congress.
As the atmosphere grew heavy and thick, taut with power like fingers in a hand closing down to a fist, she stepped outside from the porch she had known in childhood.
Eyes closed and head held with chin to chest, her breath came to a slow, deliberate exhale as thunder rumbled out in readiness.
Electricity sparked blue from her finger tips.
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