three eighteen

The light
flickers
on the walls of her room
no speaking
no sound at all
escapes the screen.


She hears
the sounds of the city
traffic passes by
people speak then drift away.


When the clock shows
three eighteen
she pauses
to look in the halls
and hope
someone stirs,
someone moves.

No luck - Alone.


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Friday Flash Fiction 55 - go see Gman to learn more.