Maria Alejandra Mora

A Dateless Unending

A flurry of gray ash flakes floated from her eyelashes to the cracked floor, covering the last centimeter of chestnut she could see. And it felt like 1,200. It had been 1,200. 1,200 blinks since she stood up, disoriented and alone. People say an hour goes by quickly -- that it all goes by quickly. But as she stood there dazed, trying to piece together what had happened, realizing she was alone, her perspective on time had changed. An hour no longer took 60 minutes, it took the agonizing pain of 1,200 time loops where she opened and closed her eyes to the same unmoving devastation.