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Cicada Days
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keep running yoshi
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Irene forgot to remember to forget. There was still a big chunky smooth metal thing right there on her neck, the whole time, as she spoke. She swore somehow that she could hear the rusty nail on chalkboard swivel of a camera in the distance. That definitely was not possible. Irene also forgot to forget to remember that fact.

Danny continued to look like a walking corpse. Like he was parchedly entertaining the idea that one of his famous ‘two-minute’ girlfriends would send a gun and bullets his way. Made sense. Any girl could have wandered the halls of Cochise with any old amount of bullets strung over their hip. They really had to get some gun control laws on the board in these parts. Stop idiots from putting hands on those rifled barrels. The free hand Irene hadn’t noticed was still on the gun relinquished it, so it rattled like a saber against her thigh. It was otherwise held in place, kinda stuck to her. The other hand seemed to keep it’s hold on the sensuous curve of the handle. Somehow it seemed familiar. That wasn’t quite right, but Irene accepted it for now. Hug the fake close and all.

Danny pulled out a CD player. Made sense. Danny said something. It sounded like it was being forced through the teeth. What the heck was a Four Kids, anyways? She swore she’d heard and misunderstood this joke before.

Jeremy pulled out a gun. Made not so much sense. But. Probably better a gun in his hands than some of the other kids in Cochise at the moment. Jeremy said something. More IV Kids and stuff. Man. Irene strained for a moment to see if she could make the reference make sense but it sorta just sluiced through the extra-big folds of her brain, all drippy and melty. Besides, how was a ‘fist spring thing’ smart? Accurate terminology, Jerebear! They hadn’t taken three something years of English for…



What was this, anyways? Irene looked up to the sky, away from the people she knew and into a sky she swore she knew as well. It wasn’t hot, dry enough. It was unfamiliar, an expanse of gray smoker’s puffs drifting into the horizon. Didn’t rain so often in Kingman. She looked back down. Scanned faces. Looked familiar. Skin and flesh and bone.

Suddenly Irene’s feet were taken away by fancy, sans the convenience of flight. She bounded in twos, skipping every other one. Her hair continued to flatly refuse to bounce as she surged on, charging the spot between the two boys where she’d left her bag with the random number stapled or taped or something onto it. For a moment she’d considered jumping over the bag but suddenly it seemed like a stubborn fixture to sit in her other hand that didn’t have a big gun to keep it company. Something to hold close as she dared.

“Think I gotta go now guys. You know, stuff. Cya!” Response was moot, she was already gone. Not quite a run, but the princess who liked to call herself Irene burned glass out of sand beneath her feet all the same, drifting away in an awkward-looking fashion as if it were any other day where she would do the exact same.

Move and move and move some more. All with that energy she was well known for.

((Irene Djezari continued in Until all our yesterdays are lighted fools...))
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I Say You Kill Your Heroes And Fly, Fly, Baby Don't Cry · The Cove