Lexa is used to her secluded life by the water. Ever since being discharged by the navy, she has lived and taken care of a lighthouse, spending her days by the water. Although she’s come to terms with her life, she can’t get the memory of haunting blue eyes out of her mind.
Until one day, when they show up at her doorstep, asking for shelter
“After all of her ambling she started heading back towards the apartment, resigned to her fate. Maybe even a little excited. It would all be over soon. She was just so desperate for relief. She turned a corner, boots hitting slick cobblestone while the rain continued to pour down, and for no real reason at all looked up.
It’s been a few weeks since Clarke walked into a subway car in 2022 and walked out of it in 1977, but every morning her new reality hits her like a goddamn brick.
Her muscle memory still makes her reach for her phone with bleary eyes and hold the screen up to her face so it can unlock. It still does, power outlets haven’t changed much in the last —next?— forty-five years. But her usual morning routine of scrolling through Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, then Twitter again is a thing from the past —the future?
After looking at what time it is without really seeing it, Clarke holds her phone against her chest and stares at the popcorn ceiling she’s pretty sure has asbestos as if it has answers as well.
It had been an ordinary morning smack dab in the middle of an ordinary week.
