(no subject)
Life, Martha Jones knew from experience, was far from fair. Whether it was to do with some sort of karmic balance or simply a sadistic creator, she was uncertain, but the fact remained that at some point, life being unfair had become a daily expectation. To suggest it was beginning to wear would have been a vast understatement.
Jim was gone. Gone-gone, as in disappeared, leaving and taking nothing, as if he'd not existed at all. That, Martha thought, was perhaps the most ruthless part of it. Nothing left but the feeble memories of people whose days could be just as numbered.
In the kitchen, she was bottling water and packing provisions, focusing on the task at hand because that was easier than considering the alternative. Who did she have in this place, really? Who would wait for her while she was gone, who would care? If it was her lot in life to be alone, so be it, but she'd not sit idly by and wait to become more resentful and jaded than she already was. She had two restless feet and a mind to put them to use.
Jim was gone. Gone-gone, as in disappeared, leaving and taking nothing, as if he'd not existed at all. That, Martha thought, was perhaps the most ruthless part of it. Nothing left but the feeble memories of people whose days could be just as numbered.
In the kitchen, she was bottling water and packing provisions, focusing on the task at hand because that was easier than considering the alternative. Who did she have in this place, really? Who would wait for her while she was gone, who would care? If it was her lot in life to be alone, so be it, but she'd not sit idly by and wait to become more resentful and jaded than she already was. She had two restless feet and a mind to put them to use.