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13. Leafpin - Every little thing she does

The next day was the same, and the one after that, and the one after that. Money got better, but Pin didn't drive to work anymore. In fact, her car stood in the driveway for months, stationary, gently rusting at the corners. Pin pedalled a little harder every morning, shouting in shock and joy every time the wheel of her bike carelessly struck a puddle, sending water flying everywhere. Leafy always came by just after her, and a mirror image of her smile was always there to meet her.
Both of them arrived early, and were always late for work.
Pin found Leafy more rotten on the outside than she was on the inside. Her centre was pure, and her heart golden, unlike what she had originally thought. Pin found herself caring a whole lot more. Her niece, obsessed completely by collecting little plastic animals, visited twice during the period in which she knew Leafy; the first time she had only exchanged cold, corporate conversation with her sister whilst the child arranged her toys on the wooden floor, but the second Pin had get interested in what her small relative had to tell her about them. The two people played on the floor for hours, and had the most fun either of them had had in years. The deep, playful spirit that Pin had forced herself to lock away as she grew up began to return, as Leafy drew it out with each passing day, coaxing it to frolic once again in the endless meadows of the mind.

Today was no different. Pin mounted her bike, patting the satchel to make sure it was secure, and pushing herself forwards into the warm breeze. Monday was her favourite day of the week. Working was no longer a chore: it was a joy, knowing that Leafy would be there to talk to her at the bike sheds and the beginning and end of each day. She propelled herself quicker. Darting through traffic jams and down the stoop of the hill, the block was in sight. She grinned. She'd missed her only true friend over the weekend. She should invite her out for coffee together sometime.
The bike sheds were dry. Autumn had folded into Winter, which had collapsed into Spring and then in turn to Summer. It was a desiccated month, and all the plants were parched and wilted from lack of rain.  Pin wheeled her bike into the stand and sat back against the wall, out of breath from her rush to get here. She glanced at her watch, just as it ticked to the next hour. 8 am. She should be here within the next five minutes.
The sun was dull. The leaves were covered over with dust kicked up by cars pulling into the gravelled park.
Five past eight.
Ten past.
Quarter past.
Very nervous, Pin stayed. The sun rose in the sky, hazy, then suddenly blinding, almost as if mocking the fact that Leafy had not yet arrived. The realist within her urged her to go to work, but she was already late, and the shivering remnants of her childhood self begged her to stay. After all, she might still arrive.
9 am.
Still no sign of Leafy.
"Not everything is like a fairy tale." she muttered to herself. "Things will always go wrong. Nothing is perfect."
Leafy had never been late before. Pin's eyes began to slip shut.

5 pm.

Pin had a slow, guilty and dejected ride home through the rush hour traffic. Fumes fogged her lungs and her vision as she pushed herself gently through the gritty air of reality, slogging uphill into the darkness. She crawled through her front door at gone seven. Her cats were hungry. She fed them both twice their normal amount.
The TV droned on about the depressing facts of life, the deaths, the terrorism, the mistakes, people suffering and crying...
A bomb had gone off nearby, apparently. Nine people had died. She furrowed her brow in sympathy as the news reporter gave them the story live from the scene of the crime. He seemed distressed, despite his professional manner and persona. The wreckage of an old bank smouldered behind him, as police and rescue teams scurried frantically around like ants as if in a panic. A small flowery shape bloomed behind the news reporter, catching Pin's eye, as the report entered into the depressing scenes of the aftermath. A sick, depraved person planting a bomb. The explosion at 7 am. Video footage of it all caving in on the inside. And, most terrible of all, a huge chunk of rock and mortar, embedded in the pavement. The shot was from a certain angle, and below it you could see the twisted and mangled frame of a rose-gold bike.

The small instances in time. The ones you wish you could just pause to experience again and again, to love and to remember.
Time never seemed real when Pin visited the graveyard. It had an eerily peaceful atmosphere about it.
A ladybird bumbled over the gravestone that had been there for too long. A few pink roses trembled into the vase that always sat partially buried on her grave, preserving her, almost bringing back memories of her beautiful face.
Pin felt like, when she visited, Leafy visited too. She was there every time. Pin could only ever stay for a quarter of an hour or so and update the thin air about all the things that happened in her life. Her niece had grown up and was at university now, for example.  It felt like they were still having their bike shed conversations, only this time somewhere different and more melancholy.
The leaves shone with the rays of sunlight, as the clouds burst open to illuminate Pin kneeling with her head bowed, and the shining gravestone that meant so much to her. She wondered whether Leafy would care that she came here so often, or whether she gave her flowers. She had had so many other friends who wept and wailed at the funeral. Yet, they never came. Pin smiled, as she remembered how excited Leafy was about everything in life. She would care.

After all, she was always about the little things.

Me writing a oneshot: points at Leafy alright, so I will kill you