00:00:00
In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
Bucky’s numbers had always been low. His parents had put a good spin on it, told them it meant his soulmate would be someone he knew for a long time, and he’d get to meet them sooner than his other classmates and friends. His sisters were jealous, even baby Carrie, only five and complaining about waiting ages to meet the perfect playmate. They would wonder what his soulmate was like, if she was shy or fierce, if she’d be in his class or if they’d meet on the playground. It was always assumed his soulmate was a girl; the alternative wasn’t really spoken about, although it happened all over.
School had started up again, and Bucky was only ten; his numbers told him he only had a few days before meeting his soulmate. He was at a new school this year, and he walked there with determination, dead set on making friends. It worked, for the most part; he played with a few other boys from his class, but didn’t branch out.
When his numbers hit an hour, he felt his stomach drop out, same as riding the Cyclone at Coney Island. Bucky walked home slowly, looking all around him, nervous as hell; what would she be like? Would she have red hair like Taylor, a girl in his class, or big blue eyes like his Momma? The questions made him curious, and he wondered, too, about her personality. Would she be funny? Would she know how to make him laugh?
His train of thought crashed off course when he heard a scuffle coming from the next alleyway. Curious, he peeked down it, seeing two older kids picking on some boy, stick thin and pale as death. He was down on the ground, but it seemed like he kept getting up, and the older boys were laughing.
The timer ticked down.
When they threw the boy into a dumpster, Bucky got angry, went down the alley hollering at them. Unimpressed, they merely moved on, and Bucky seethed for a moment before throaing himself into the dumpster, too, so the boy wouldn’t be alone.
His timer hit zero, with a shock up his arm, and Bucky looked down in amazement, before looking at the boy with the same wonder. You, it’s you, he thought, a tinge desperately.
@littlebrooklynboy
