She hates waiting. It reminds her of overcrowded bus halts and doctor visits. Being the last to be picked on the team. Standing by the school gate at 3.30 pm as everyone leaves one by one. Sitting at Pizza Hut in her prettiest jeans, chewing the polish off her nails.
She feels her energy drifting away. Already her feet have grown numb. She doesn’t think she can wait much longer, enduring their stares. You know the feeling when you think the whole world is laughing at you and whispering behind your back, but no one cares, not really? No one even sees you.
She likes being invisible, though. It means no one is laughing. But for once, she wishes they would notice her. Talk to him, she wants to say. All he wants is a little attention. He gets tired of waiting, too. After all, he is only three…
Funny, how being invisible makes you put things in perspective. It gives you time to reflect. She reflects on all those moments she could have been visible, but wasn’t.
It is sad, really, how you inevitably want to go back and live the moments you didn’t.
Aftermath is everything. The tyres screech, the mother screams and everyone runs to the middle of the road. She feels the transfer of his energy as it surges through her feet, a pang so sharp and strong it almost makes her feel alive. For an instant she wonders about the moments of his short life, whether the visible moments have been enough to outweigh the invisible ones, or whether, like her, he will spend the rest of eternity feeding off the moments of those that had lived.