Before Fate Takes Every Thing Away
She woke, the phrase repeating in her head.
Because the street.
It was not difficult to remember Jason, even after he died. Twists of metal, and blood, and that sharp acrid smell before the flame. Because the street, she thinks, remembering. But nothing comes. Nothing at all.
If she could walk in mist, she would. If she could walk, and run and run, and the mist could get deeper and darker, and cool upon her skin – if it could envelop her like a dream – then she would walk and never wake.