This is my hand locked in yours and we sit at the end of our world, numb from the spit of cold air blowing through us as if to soothe the burn.
But there’s no fire now; it’s the cold of graves and murder. It’s the cold of reality.
I want to give us back our lives. This is the fantasy now. We are finished with dark overlords and elves. We are done with space pirates and mystical warriors. No more superheroes because they never did exist and they didn’t come to save the world. I want to flip the pages back and rewrite what happened.
What happened?
We are running out of gas. We are afraid to stop in towns. The last one was a desolate sequence and a quick getaway, all adrenalin. It’s getting more difficult to navigate highways with abandoned cars in a trail like breadcrumbs, pointing to th
