She sits on the cold ground with her sister
in her lap. The acrid scent of death is in
the air. Ashes rain down on the condemned,
whispering to them of their fate, perhaps kinder
than surviving, yet stifling all hope of escape.
She drapes the cold rag on her sister's
forehead, a dull attempt to bring down
the heat. The warmth is spreading—
she can feel it too. It helps fuel the throb
in her brain, and the scream in her muscles.
Just a little longer, she says.
Hang on and don't leave me.
A long night on the damp earth and
her sister fades away.
The world becomes a distorted place. Skeletons
nearby have regained their flesh, no longer
pricking their skin or being sent for showers.
The world is softer, heartbeats smoother.
She's dispersing into the fabric of time.
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