The woman gazed longingly out of her window, overlooking the neighbours gardens with their greener grass and more beautiful families. There was something picturesque about her with the sun gently breaking the cloud cover as her eyes cast over the lives of others.
Her long, thick dress covered the frumpiness that had begun to set in at her age. It was hot as hell under all the layers but it suited the tone in which she was due to return.
She had expected to live a life of deviance, that part was not surprising. She had never expected normality, but now, as she looked onto the nicer lives of her mirrored self, she longed for someone to call hers, somewhere to call her own. All she ever got was heartbreak and disappointment. Again, here, now, this was no different. 2015 could not provide her with a love, with a life, only a few short happy years before it was ripped from her yet again.
Perhaps 1878 could give her something that not other century had yet gifted her. Perhaps she would find herself looking out of another window, longing for more than her lot. Perhaps she would never find the one.
Harry Daniel 