Page 84 of Life After You

Go away, bird.

Go away with your stupid… wings…

Angel.

I know you.

Pain.

You are… Pain.

Everyone is… What was it he said? Scarrred something. Something. It was deep. A single word, curling, twisting. It’s not suggestive. It’s the purr of a predator.

Come here, kitty. Come say hello.

Light spills in, warm and inviting, but—no. Not right. Not now.

The car shudders. The world tilts.

A wave crashes in my ears, roaring, deafening. Sparks rain down, little burning stars. I blink, trying to focus, but my head feels wrong, my thoughts slipping between my fingers. My body is trapped, twisted at an unnatural angle.

There’s someone near me. Still. Too still.

Think.

My mind fights for reason, but it’s like wading through tar. The car rocks again.

Pain explodes—hot, white, violent. It steals my breath.

I try to scream. The sound never comes.

I don’t know where I am.

I try to move. Nothing listens.

Cold seeps in, carving through the numbness. A sharp, metallic taste floods my mouth—blood. The acrid stink of diesel and transmission fluid clings to the air.

The person. The still one.

They are made of—

No.

They are Clay.

My gaze finds him, blurred, unmoving. His chest should be rising. His fingers should twitch. He should—

Darkness claws at the edges of my vision, thick and heavy.

There are voices. A hundred of them. A hubbub of words spilling over each other. Too far away.

I’m sinking.

Fading.

Weightless.

I can’t die.

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