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It was days like these where he was exhausted. Tuesday around dusk, he found himself sprawled over his desk in a comatose, lost with a feeling of solid unfulfillment and worthlessness. Sometimes, he would put his pencil to the yellowed, decrepit paper and write a word or two. Todays accomplishment, tomorrows first item in the trash bin. He blamed it on distractions. It wasn’t his fault, after all, it was Abigail's.
Rob Peterson rose from his cahri as the loud sound of footsteps erupted from the hallway. He leaned out, masking the anger and frustration on his face with a playful smile, and called loudly; “Abigail, you must be quiet, I’m working!”
The same as everyday, he retreated to his desk, grasped the pencil firmly in his hand, and listened longingly to the ticks of the clock as time passed. Roslyn would be home at 6:13. She’d come in the door, sigh loudly, and set her parcel to the ground. The click of her red high heels would come nearer and nearer, and Rob’s excitement would grow.
Roslyn would enter, and with her, a rush of warm, lively air. They’d kiss, exchange a story or two, he’d stroke her auburn hair, and she’d exit to get their beautiful daughter dinner. But 6:13 came and passed. As 6:30 approached, Rob found himself sick with worry. She’d finally left. She’d gotten kidnapped. Murdered. Lost.
He found himself blindly running out into the rain, leaving his precious daughter behind. He ran frantically, from person to person, asking with pure desperation if they knew where Roslyn was. Every person in town knew him, and his story, far too well. They each shook their heads grimly at his question, found sudden interest in their feet, and shuffled off.
“Have you seen Roslyn?!” Rob begged, ducking under the umbrella of Mrs. Chamberson. She smiled toothlessly at him, and pressed a frail hand to his face.
“Go back to bed dear, she’ll be there tomorrow, I promise.” Mrs. Chambersons daughter that stood behind her nodded in agreement.
“I’m just worried.” Rob replied.
“I know. Head on back and don’t fret.” He nodded weakly, kissed Mrs. Chambersons cheek, and trailed back home in the rain.
“It’s so sad.” Her daughter muttered, just like everyday.
“I know. He’s been such a wreck since they died.”