Summery: When she went, it surprised everyone.
When she went, it surprised everyone.
The pilot in the cockpit, the whore in the tower, the girl in the machine. They were all so surprised.
He wasn’t. But very little surprised him, when it came to her.
He acted surprised, mouth twisting and opening in her name before he fell. But he knew her, insides and outsides and twisting mental pathways full of needles.
She left handprints on his clean white shirt, and they will be expensive to get out. Mother would be very disappointed.
Blood doesn’t always tell, she knows.
The others fell, one by one, surprise on their faces.
The man who thought he was God was in the shower when she caught him.
Her brother wouldn’t approve of her going in there while there was someone else in there. Even though he had gone in there when the girl in the machine kissed his open mouth, surprised by her, but not by his sister. And then later, when the man who lost his god stood naked in the doorway and watched him with heated eyes.
She had removed the man’s eyes, later, for that. He had screamed. It had given her a headache, and she would ask her brother for something, but he couldn’t answer her anymore.
No more needles, pinpricks in her arms, no more rush of sleep dragging her down, disrupting her plans, her orders.
She had waited for so long, sorting out the webs the spiders left, crawling through what was left of her Humpty Dumpty head, trying to remember what They had told her, before he came for her. Before they let her go, laughing behind blue and green masks as her brother lifted her up and carried her away in a box.
She had always liked closed in spaces, safe and warm in the dark, knowing someone would come and find you.
But no one could come anymore. He was dead and she was dead and they were dead, and she didn’t like the wet slick of blood under her nails.
She washed her hands, and ignored the big man who feared, the only other one whose face had held no surprise when she went. He was still breathing, but not for long. The blood was choking in his throat, and she wondered if it felt slip slick like her hands did.
She licked at him experimentally, tasting the flecks on his lips, but it was just blood, and she had never liked salt.
His eyes closed, and she watched his last breath through his chest cavity, ripped open like paper.
She curled up in a box that she didn’t wake up in, and waited.