Team Ducks, 386 wordsmrssnape13August 28 2010, 01:23:00 UTC
Morality: Due to the Dead
He hadn’t observed the proper funeral rites, because she hadn’t died a proper death.
They had been the only two left, hiding somewhere in the desert in a ramshackle hut. He’d been working on a way to take them back in time and avert the disaster all together and she had been working on keeping them alive: those hunting skills had finally come in handy.
Neither had believed that the sickness could be dormant for so long, but then she had begun to have symptoms, and they had both come to understand that time was short.
She’d faded fast, but had made sure that he was amply provided for before she was entirely bed ridden. He’d not given up on his work, but he’d never left her side either.
“Sheldon, sweetie, you should stay away from me. You’re gonna get sick too.”
“Penny, if you’re sick then it is already far too late for me. We can only hope that I am able to finish my work before either of us succumbs.”
She’d looked at him with haunted eyes.
“You’re gonna make it. I know you are.”
He would hold her close and assure her that he would make sure that she did too.
Neither of them believed the words he said at those moments.
She tied on a Tuesday afternoon, just after four o’clock.
She clung to him until the last breath left her body, and when it was over he kissed her forehead and closed her eyes.
He’d begun coughing before he had finished digging her grave.
There was no coffin, no fancy marker, just a shroud made from his old windbreaker and a makeshift wooden cross. She’d asked him to make it, and he’d respected her wishes.
He hadn’t bothered to mark her name or put her dates on it. It wouldn’t matter soon. He’d either finish the time machine and fix everything or he’d die. It was very simple, really.
By the time the device was finished, he was not long for this life.
As consciousness began to fade, he used the last ounce of his strength to slam his hand down on the button.
. . .
Sheldon woke up in his own bed and went to knock on Penny’s door.
He hadn’t observed the proper funeral rites, because she hadn’t died a proper death.
They had been the only two left, hiding somewhere in the desert in a ramshackle hut. He’d been working on a way to take them back in time and avert the disaster all together and she had been working on keeping them alive: those hunting skills had finally come in handy.
Neither had believed that the sickness could be dormant for so long, but then she had begun to have symptoms, and they had both come to understand that time was short.
She’d faded fast, but had made sure that he was amply provided for before she was entirely bed ridden. He’d not given up on his work, but he’d never left her side either.
“Sheldon, sweetie, you should stay away from me. You’re gonna get sick too.”
“Penny, if you’re sick then it is already far too late for me. We can only hope that I am able to finish my work before either of us succumbs.”
She’d looked at him with haunted eyes.
“You’re gonna make it. I know you are.”
He would hold her close and assure her that he would make sure that she did too.
Neither of them believed the words he said at those moments.
She tied on a Tuesday afternoon, just after four o’clock.
She clung to him until the last breath left her body, and when it was over he kissed her forehead and closed her eyes.
He’d begun coughing before he had finished digging her grave.
There was no coffin, no fancy marker, just a shroud made from his old windbreaker and a makeshift wooden cross. She’d asked him to make it, and he’d respected her wishes.
He hadn’t bothered to mark her name or put her dates on it. It wouldn’t matter soon. He’d either finish the time machine and fix everything or he’d die. It was very simple, really.
By the time the device was finished, he was not long for this life.
As consciousness began to fade, he used the last ounce of his strength to slam his hand down on the button.
. . .
Sheldon woke up in his own bed and went to knock on Penny’s door.
They had work to do.
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