Title: Fleeting Moments
Word Count: 500
Prompt: #12 Sunlight
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and no profit is being made from the use of them.
The stepstool rocked forward and she braced her hand against the wall to steady her balance before unhooking the bottle of glass cleaner from the handle and spraying the top panels of the casement window. While the design was simplistic and pretty, the amount of time it took to clean each individual pane was rather tedious, but with tireless precision she sprayed and wiped leaving a streak free shine. She stepped down and repeated the process on the next set until all four were clean and she moved the stool to the next window.
She compressed the nozzle, gaze drifting past the cleaner running down the glass toward the asphalt track just behind the small section of yard in front of her apartment. Beyond the imprint of man and past a chain link fenced topped with barbwire, trees rose up. They filled every available space and cast reaching shadows across the compound as the days grew shorter and the nights longer. For the last few weeks she had been watching winter begin to fill the woods until it spilled over onto the lawn.
The leaves of fall in their varying shades of yellow and crimson began to float downward, settle on the ground. Splashes of color against the still green grass and the sun would catch the piles. Fill them with sparks of gold and orange and in those brief, startling moments of beauty she forgot. Forgot that she had no past and even less knowledge of her future and the world was simple and perfect in those wonderful but fleeting moments.
Her arm stilled in its clockwise motion and her brow furrowed, as she looked out, past the asphalt and fence to stare into the woods. Her hand clenched around the paper towel, knuckles smearing her streak free shine as she felt an itch at the base of her spine. An urge that whispered, begged for her to slip out the front door and run through the woods. Welcome the warmth of the sunlight that brought those brilliant colors to life and free herself.
Did she need freedom?
Was she a prisoner?
She hopped backwards off the stepstool, landed gracefully and spun on her heel to make her way to the small kitchen alcove and tea. The effects of chamomile did wonders for her nerves and just holding the oversized mug brought with it a sense of peace. She hesitated at the ceramic tiles that covered the kitchen floor and frowned, tea was soothing. It calmed her agitated thoughts and she was unsure if she wanted to derail this train of thought just yet.
Her spine stiffened and she rolled her shoulders back before turning back to the living room. Made her way to the stool and settled herself on the top step, staring out at the sunlight and leaves, her lips dipping. She was tired of being soothed, tired of being placated. She had to look beyond the surface and figure out what the hell was going on.