Jessica has only just started and, already, she’s running out of words. As she types, the letters flow through the gaps in her lean, nicotine-stained fingers, a relentless torrent of nouns and verbs which threatens to flood the glowing white page in front of her. And, it doesn’t matter what the sentences mean, they all say the same thing. That you don’t have long together.
And Jessica had such ambitions.
You could have seen so much. A kingdom where crystal towers stretched into a deep purple sky. Or a journey back to the black and white streets of 1940s New York. She might have told you about the tragedy of Samatha. Samantha who sat alone on a park bench with tears streaming down her pale face.
She certainly doesn’t have the words left to tell you who murdered Dr. Francis. You don’t have the time to hunt around his mansion for clues. You’ll never find out if it was the adulterous wife, thieving maid or inconspicuous butler.
Jessica has a great story about a talking cat.
But, you’re running out of time and she’s hyphenated as much as she can do within the blog guidelines. She genuinely wishes she had more words. She really does. She could have shown you so much; taken you to places that she can only dream of. You would have had the best time.
Jessica doesn’t want to leave now. Not when there’s still so much to say.
But, she’s out of words. There are only 16 left between you now.
“Please. Please don’t let me waste them,” she mutters into the darkness.
As twilight descends on her story, Jessica brands the page with a final full stop. Twenty minutes later, she wonders if her name will count towards the word limit.