Joan of Arcadia Fic: The Hours (1/1)
Author: X_tremeroswellian
Title: The Hours
Rated: G
Word Count: 206
For fanfic100 prompt 006-hours
The Hours
The hours after Judith's death passed so slowly it felt to Joan Girardi as if time had actually stopped.
But as she lay in bed, watching the minutes slowly tick by on her clock, she realized it had not stopped. It had not even slowed down.
The world was already spinning on.
And for that, Joan was bitter. Maybe it was irrational but she felt like God should have at least stopped the clock from ticking--even if just for a few minutes. A few minutes in recognition of the painful, aching loss that she wondered if she'd ever truly recover from.
Days later, she wished for time to speed up. Warp-speed even. She wanted to speed up the grieving, get on with the healing, and forget as best she could about the loss she'd experienced. Wasn't time supposed to heal all wounds?
But the hours passed by as always: slow when you wanted them to fly by and quickly when you wanted time to stand still.
Being God's conduit didn't allow her any extra comfort or special benefits than anyone else had.
If anything, it was worse in some ways.
The world continued to spin, and everyone moved on.
But the hours stayed the same.
Title: The Hours
Rated: G
Word Count: 206
For fanfic100 prompt 006-hours
The Hours
The hours after Judith's death passed so slowly it felt to Joan Girardi as if time had actually stopped.
But as she lay in bed, watching the minutes slowly tick by on her clock, she realized it had not stopped. It had not even slowed down.
The world was already spinning on.
And for that, Joan was bitter. Maybe it was irrational but she felt like God should have at least stopped the clock from ticking--even if just for a few minutes. A few minutes in recognition of the painful, aching loss that she wondered if she'd ever truly recover from.
Days later, she wished for time to speed up. Warp-speed even. She wanted to speed up the grieving, get on with the healing, and forget as best she could about the loss she'd experienced. Wasn't time supposed to heal all wounds?
But the hours passed by as always: slow when you wanted them to fly by and quickly when you wanted time to stand still.
Being God's conduit didn't allow her any extra comfort or special benefits than anyone else had.
If anything, it was worse in some ways.
The world continued to spin, and everyone moved on.
But the hours stayed the same.