Yowzah Oneshot Collection (1)

30(G)

for in the sleep of death what dreams may come

She blamed him. For all of it, but especially the dreams.

x

They take turns – visits they call them, but she knows what they are. Check-ups.

“This isn’t healthy.” Doctor Moon says, and she glares at him until he fidgets uncomfortably on her sofa, his teacup rattling in its saucer.

“You’re not an actual Doctor. I’m not a virus or an error in code – stop trying to fix me.” She resents it of course, they all think they know. They have no idea what this is like for her. How long and rich her life was before this empty nothingness filled with too-bright sunshine and god damn it, she just wishes it would rain in here some days.

Then no one would make the trek to the house, and ask how she’s feeling today.

x

Every morning starts the same. Charlotte creeps into her room, bare feet barely whispering across wooden floor boards and crawls up over the foot of the bed until she can curl her small body against River’s.

River likes the weight in the bed, the dip in the mattress, the feeling like she is not alone. And though she loves all the children, some small part of her hearts loves Charlotte a little bit more, because she is real and has been here long enough to be aware. Charlotte’s fingers brush against her hair softly and she smiles up at River. “It’s morning.” She whispers and River nods. “Maybe it will be today.” She adds and River swallows because the hope rises every morning with this small girl’s words. Maybe it will be today.

Time is a funny thing in the computer core. It’s only been weeks for her, but she has no idea how long it has been out there. And even if she did, what would any of it mean anyway? Time has always been meaningless to them – a tool to be used. They’d lived and loved their way through practically every century known to man, and a few that man didn’t even make it to.

“Maybe.” She whispers back. Charlotte holds her hand and doesn’t say anything else.

x

She sits by the water, her diary in her lap and her eyes gazing out at the ducks. The waddle and quack pleasantly, splashing, content. The water calms her and she visits it every day, usually when the others stop by to gather the children for story time.

They adventure in books, but she never joins them. It’s not the same – to know the story, to know the ending. It’s not the same without his hand in hers and the running.

It’s just not the same.

So she comes here instead, a small wooden bench that is suitably weathered for comfort, and sits with her book in her lap – the only book she ever reads anymore.

She misses him so much; it is like somehow something was left out in the upload process. Maybe he got there too late. Maybe it wasn’t done properly.

Because all she has is an empty ache where she swore she used to have hearts.

x

“Come with us.” Anita’s voice is soft and warm. “Just once, River, come along. He wouldn’t want this for you.”

River laughs at that, her eyes fastened on the mug of tea in front of her. It is a bright cheerful yellow, and there is a chip in the rim from the last time she washed dishes and it hit the edge of the sink too hard. Charlotte keeps reminding her that these chores aren’t things that she has to do really, but she likes the menial tasks, they distract her.