(no subject)
Sorry, this is well under the word limit, but it’s all I have to say on this theme really.
**
He doesn’t recall when days turned into weeks, weeks into months.
His days and nights are spent alone, in quiet.
These grey walls, this narrow bed, this too thin blanket are his horizon.
Beyond that - nothing, except from his own unquiet dreams for comfort.
Seventeen days. For seventeen days he had been outside this world.
He had kept his secrets to himself, just as they had taught him to, but when he returned something had been broken inside.
He realised that a year had gone by when he could see the droplets outside the bars on his window turn to ice and he knew that it was winter in Russia, again.
**
It was only when he returned to London that he found the cards from her collected inside a dusty envelope with his name on it, intercepted, arrived too late.
In English, with many commas.
At first the dates were close together, then less frequent. Then a silence which indicated the precise point when she had given up hope.
He is too exhausted to wonder where they told her he had been.
He holds the paper, his fingers tracing the words and tries to picture her face but it has dissolved even before it can begin to form.
**
My prompt was:
Cards from you arrived
In English, with many commas.