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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Kiziah Saraki continued from If It Bleeds, It Leads.))

Once they were in the library, Kizi finally opened her eyes.

Of course, they had opened at some points during their escape, during their trek. But she hadn't looked. Had only noticed vague outlines, billowy colours, indistinct shapes. Her tearducts were alternating between flooding and clogged, and her visual sense refused to focus, refused to take notice of anything. Luckily Clarice had been with her. Luckily the grip on gun and bag remained strong.

Her other senses had been hit and miss. She hadn't heard anything memorable. A loud, humming din, that was all she could recall. Even when things must have been silent, bar their clumsy and bumbling escape and maybe the dissonant sounds of wildlife. But she remembered every scent hitting her nose, the jolting accompanying every twist and turn, the taste of her own tears falling into her mouth.

Kizi had landed on the library floor. On her back. Staring at the ceiling, as if it would contain some arcane wisdom. Probably as useful in her current predicament as every book combined. She hated to acknowledge book smarts were useless here, but there she was.

And then somehow, Clarice's softly spoken plea for help penetrated Kizi's bubble. It was strange hearing Clarice speak softly. And then it hit her. It wasn't that she was speaking softly. It was that she was speaking weakly. And that, that was unusual. Climbing to her feet, Kizi was quick to reply. "We have first aid kits. Tell me what you need me to do." She was already pulling it out of her bag by the time she finished her sentence.
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Death Is The Only Freedom... · The Library