By Decater Collins
Harper and Ellen sit on the big rock every evening and watch the sun die.
They are careful never to make contact, maintaining a slight separation at all times. The inch of space between them is intentional, and the closer their hands come to touching, the more resistance they feel, like magnets.
Harper and Ellen rarely speak in these moments. Words don’t seem as important as they used to. Even on the television, no one talks anymore. Everyone knows the unfairness of it all. Everyone knows that when the end comes, it will be abrupt.