Dust Shall Eat The Days

Awaken. Dress. Peer into the bathroom mirror while you brush your teeth; ignore eyes that are looking redder every year. No light when you pour yourself a cup of coffee from sheer memory of where everything is.

Nothing really helps, but the routine makes things easier.

Listen to the messages on your phone.

Reeve's voice sounds different now. He's in his fifties and it shows more and more every time you see or hear him. There's a fine tremor that makes its way into Tifa's tone, just like the fine lines that have been showing around her eyes. Even Yuffie is sounding older and older. Frighteningly mature. Almost calm. You startle every time you hear her, wondering if you know this woman.

The scariest of all is Cid, whose smoker's rasp has worsened. He can't say two words without coughing. The nightly highballs full of whiskey don't help. You remember a man who seemed like he would run forever on vitriol, alcohol, and nicotine, too alive to succumb to petty deaths involving lung cancer or old age.

You wonder what you'll do when they're gone. Will you still be in this crumbling mansion, drinking air and listening to old messages?