She was (a Fictional Moment 2)

She cut a profile in movement, Bloom’n did, with her hair trailing back as if to whip up a giddy-up at the soles of her well weathered mountain boots.  And her mind pressed forward while her hand palmed itself back and let loose all that had gone before in her world.   They were late, despite herself.  She rarely paused.  Or if she did, she’d never let anyone in on those moments.  Lord knows, he had tried to crash her momentum, slow her down, or otherwise derail her from her intention.  She wasn’t sure what he wanted at all.  And at the same time, she knew he somehow wanted to contain her.  But that was then and this was now.  And for now, he had better hurry it up, she thought and dared pause to think to herself that if he didn’t light a fire under himself,  the moment would elude them both yet again.  She flicked a glance to her right.  Half annoyed.  Half alarmed but stole from it a moment of hope.  He had moved.  Not much.  Not much at all.  But enough.

Sprocket pulled at the end of an outrageously expensive cigarette — because they all were these days — before tossing it behind him.  Then he streteched his long legs out.  As if in chase of Bloom’n’s gate.

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