[ WP ] A lone silhouette on a cliff . A blank face in a crowd . A single figure floating through the void . Write me a story of loneliness .

She paces the house, not knowing what to do with herself anymore. A lot of time has passed since he was taken away, but it still feels as if it was yesterday. Everything has gone by so slowly, she wonders out loud to no one in particular. It's too quiet now. Maybe it's always been too quiet. 
 She pours herself the first cup of what will be an endless number of coffees. She glances over at the clock. 4:19pm. The same time he left. It's always this time, she thinks to herself. She sighs and takes a sip, burning her tongue. 
 
 The laundry timer rings. She smiles hesitantly to herself, finally feeling as if she has a purpose. It's only for a few minutes, she says, but it's something. But, as she unloads the washer, it dawns on her that the machine is half-empty. It used to have all of his clothes, too. Used to. Now they sit in garbage bags in the shed, collecting dust. She begins to cry. 
 
 Sitting down in the chair, she turns the news on. It's 6 o'clock. Another cup of coffee rests on the table next to her. She begins to watch the latest disaster unfold on the television, and looks over at his chair. She knows he's not there, but it gives her a sense of normalcy to do so. She calls her daughter, wanting to talk about how she's still struggling with everything, but no one answers. It's 6:15pm. She begins to cry and falls asleep. 
 9pm. She awakes in a flash, startled by her own dreams. He was there, and they had just got back from Church. It's a Sunday, and the kids were over for a late lunch. This is the first thing that's made her smile in a long while. She then remembers it was a dream, and no one is there. The sun has been down for two hours now, and there are no lights on in the house. She sits in the glow of the television, before turning it off and sitting in complete darkness and silence. She listens to the small flutter of her heart beat against her chest. She wishes it would just give out. 
 
 A nose comes from down the hallway, and for a second she convinces herself that it's him. He must be in the computer room. She gets up excitedly, turns on the light in the kitchen and pokes her head around the corner. Nothing. Oh, that's weird, she says. Maybe he's in the bathroom. She walks down the hallway and looks towards the empty, darkened bathroom, spotting his Bible on the bookshelf next to the toilet paper. She sighs heavily. She does n't know why she always does this. She closes the bathroom door behind her and she walks away, head down. 
 
 To the kitchen, she struggles putting out the correct pills for herself to take. He always used to do this for her. She's never had that good of a memory, and ever since he's been gone, it's only gotten worse. She does n't know if she took this one already, so she's going to just take it again. Placing it into her mouth, she takes a sup of lukewarm coffee and swallows the pill. She looks down at the table and sees that his old pill container is now hers. She looks at the time again. 11:30pm. He always used to get home around this time when he was working. 
 
 She ca n't sleep in their bed anymore. It's too cold and big. No one is there to keep her company, and all she'll do is cry and toss and turn and stare at the ceiling and stare at the clock and have a million different thoughts and ideas and fears and dreams rush through her head. She turns the porch light on outside and takes a look outside. The people across the street are busy chopping up cars. The kid in the trailer to her left is blaring music and smoking pot with the local delinquents. The nice bi-polar boy who helped her up when she fell in the winter last year is pacing the street, the glare of the porch light shining brightly off of his exposed switchblade. 
 
 She's scared. She's tired. She's angry. 
 
 She looks at the clock again. 2:00am. She does n't understand how time goes so fast, yet slow all at once. She sits down at the kitchen table, clad in her robe, and pours herself another cup of coffee. It's never going to get easier, she says out loud, as she stares up at the last family portrait that included everyone. She sighs deeply, and takes a sip of her coffee, and she can swear that somewhere, down the hall and in her bedroom, he can hear him call her name for her to come to bed. 
 
 She looks at the clock and cries.
