a time and a place

She's dead. I can't get my head around that.

I met her the night before at a party. We drank enough that we decided the party was lame, since she had a flask anyway, and made our way through the streets, making out, making ourselves a nuisance to anyone still up and out themselves. It probably doesn't matter.

I wish I could tell you I knew what drew me to her, or probably more importantly, her to me. But once we'd talked for a while I sensed it. She was running, and running from something big. The sort of thing you can't run from. Maybe she thought I could protect her--"it's like you get me," she slurred in my ear, her lips so close I couldn't hear any words. And we certainly walked the streets feeling like we could take on the world. Bring on the monsters, I don't care!

But after we'd gotten thoroughly lost and slightly less drunk we talked. It was a conversation you can only have with someone you know you'll never see again. We didn't talk about running, or monsters, but the fear was back. Had I failed, or had I just not had a chance to succeed yet? Or maybe--but anyway, we got a cab and went back to my place, and then she was gone in the morning and then I heard through the grapevine that she was dead. Some freak accident, I guess.

And here's me wondering what really killed her. Did what she was running from finally catch her? Or maybe she stopped running. Did she say something about that? My memories of the evening all ran together and they didn't contain much in the way of words.

Of course they wouldn't show me where it happened. Of course I wouldn't want to anyway, and even if I did I wouldn't find anything. This was all just some weird nervous reaction to hearing some random one night stand just died the next day. Meanwhile I'm locking my doors.

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