she didn’t note that hail is ice. ignorance kept her foot on the gas.

eyes open from the dark and there is smoke, dangling from the ceiling she is  seeing sinking light and hearing thud thud thud, not of hail but of her own stupid breath. “holy shit”, she says.

ringing ears and the fact that she could move and crawl;  cut her hands on glass and feel it- sharp tingle, warm.

and there were feet and she knew those feet. those leather boots that she had so admired of the kind-faced fellow that rarely speaks. following her- some guardian- and it should have been the other way, but youth knows nothing but their own feeling of invincibility.

she clings to him and others come. they bring her out from the dark depths of something  mangled, something steel. they hold on and she is smiling. the ground is cold and the sky is bright and she is alive to squeeze their warm, warm hands. the paramedic says: “somebody was watching over you”,

and she calls her an angel.


scrapyard dreams






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