Two People are Coming Out of a Building

They walk slowly, heads hanging low, out of the low-rise building. His feet are heavy and his boots add weight to his walk. One arm swings as he walks, he bites a chipped fingernail on the other hand. The cool evening breeze brushes them, their clothes dance an unknown rhythm.1

He looks to the ground, keeping his eye on a particular moving spot, his deep frown creasing his forehead, determined to leave a permanent scar. He doesn't look up from the ground.2

The leaves on the surrounding trees move in sync with the breeze, creating a soothing, calm hush as they walk towards the car. The cloudy, grey skies warn of either imminent rain or the aging day. He doesn't mind either.3

She looks at him, her arms wrapped around her herself, and then looks to the ground, as though focusing on the same spot as him.4

"So what do we do now?" She asks, knowing her question wouldn't make them feel better. The potential answers he would give her looked bleak. She wishes she never spoke, but the silence was deafening her.5

He takes his time organizing his thoughts around her. She doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation and he doesn't want to complicate things for her. He takes a deep breath.6

"It's not as easy as you think, Sam."7

Her eyes divert from the focused spot for a moment, then hurry back to the same place. It was always like him not to answer her questions. She falls silent and drowns her thoughts in the sounds of their footsteps and the evening breeze.8

The car smells musky, and as she slams the door shut a familiar feeling comes over her, then it slowly fades. He holds her hand tightly for a moment, then stations his palms on the wheel. He pretends to concentrate on the road and their routine drive home, but his tears are at the brink of rolling down his cheeks.9

He unlocks the door to their home, thankful she is in a happier mood than he. As they enter the apartment she leads herself first to explore the living room, then the dining area, then the garden. He knows what comes next.10

"Where am I?" She asks, fear in her eyes.11

He takes off his boots, tears burning his cheeks now. He furiously wipes them off and again breathes in deep. He hurries to sit her down, despite her refusals. He prepares her favourite tea for her to slurp. He watches her drift into sleep and wonders what she dreams of.12

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day, he thinks, optimistically. Maybe tomorrow she'll remember a bit more, despite what they say.