Susan sat staring at the photo of boy Mark for an unknown, uncounted time. The mid-afternoon light softened and faded into a twilight world. Still she sat and stared. Only when the light was fully left and she could no longer see, did she rise, turn on the electric light and shake herself, as if awaking from a trance. The crocodile stone was still in her hand, alongside it was the picture, and both gave her comfort.
Seeing Mark as an innocent boy had given her such a yearning for a different life, a life with him where none of the bad had happened. Maybe each would have gone about their own lives, passed the other in a street unknowing, perhaps to have met as adults, each with children of their own. She wondered if the spark of attraction would have sprung forth and burnt brightly if they had met thus. She thought it might, but even if they had not met they would have gone about lives better and fuller than this desolate wasteland they both now inhabited.