She stood on a bridge,
looking down at the train yard. She
didn’t look at us as we approached.
“I’m not letting whatever
is sending those messages decided how I die.”
She was swaying, her
belly bumping into the thick stone of the railing.
We rush forward, she
leans forward, we freeze and she stops.
“We can fight this.”
“How?”
I don’t know. Randy doesn’t know.
“We can find a way.”
Randy takes a tentative step forward. “We can ask Dave to help us.”
She looks at us.
“No one can help us. We are helpless. We are hopeless.”
She looks down at the
tracks below. A gust of cold wind blasts
her hair back, sprinkling her tears through the air.
She sighs.
“We. Are. Fucked.”
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