*A Necessary Evil

Intro: I had no idea what to write so I went looking for writing prompts. This one jumped out at me: "Only two weeks into the New Year had passed and Tim had already broken his first resolution: Don't kill anyone." I hope you enjoy the story.

Only two weeks into the New Year had passed and Tim had already broken his first resolution: Don't kill anyone. He hadn't meant for it to happen. The situation, timing, and victim all matched up like fate. All it took was for Tim to pull the trigger.

He kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, his hands jammed into his pockets. There would be a news article about it. His name and picture would be prominently displayed next to the victim's name. It wouldn't be the first page but it would be big.

A car honked at him when he crossed the street without looking. He waved an apology and kept going. He would have to tell Pat, there was no getting around it. And he would be pissed. It was because of Pat he even bothered making the resolution. He'd put real effort into keeping it too.

His phone rang. Pat.

"Crap," he flipped it open and smiled. "Hello, Patrick."

"You did it, didn't you?"

"Oh ye of little faith. I made a promise."

"Tim."

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Yes, alright. I killed someone."

"Who?"

He didn't answer and instead ducked into a small alcove.

"Which one, Tim?"

Still he didn't answer.

"You killed Clint. I can't believe this. At least you could have picked someone else. Like Bernice. I wouldn't have minded if you killed her. It could have been epic."

"But everything was so perfect. It would have been a sin not to finish him off."

"Tim,"

"Yes?"

"I hate you. I'll be right over to take care of it."

"Thanks, Pat."

Tim picked up his pace and headed back to his small apartment. Pat waited at the door, the collar of his trench coat pulled up.

"That was fast," Tim commented as he pulled out his key and opened the door.

"Just let me see the damage."

Tim pointed to the corner of the room where his desk stood. As Pat hurried over, Tim slouched down on the couch. He heard Pat rustling and finally there was a sigh.
"It really was necessary."

"Told you," Tim said, his voice tired. "I really didn't want to kill him."

"But now we're in a pickle. How are you suppose to write three more books with Detective Clint who has now been shot three times through the heart."

"I'll figure something out," Tim replied, "I always do."

"I know. Just this time, please try to keep your main character around longer than two books. You're making my job as your agent a nightmare."

"I can't promise anything."

"Obviously."

Twitter

How fitting that nearly a year after I discussed how much I hate Twitter and Facebook, I am now a semi-regular user of Twitter. I will also add that the only reason I initially signed up for a Twitter account is because of work. I don't do as much with it for work as I should, but I really enjoy following my favorite authors as well as businesses. So, I have become a Twit and I don't hate it as much as I thought I would. We'll see how long this keeps up. If I keep hearing interesting facts about The Wheel of Time or about sales from my favorite website, I'll probably continue. Just don't expect me to say anything interesting. (As a side note, I'm still boycotting Facebook.)

*Waiting

Intro: Once again, my husband and I were having a late night conversation (always entertaining especially since both of us are up before 5:00). I had been listening to an audio book to and from work where a woman has a dilemma about remarrying after her husband passes away. In my life I have seen multiple successful second marriages. So, interested, I asked my husband if he would ever think about remarrying if I passed away. He replied that it would depend. He asked the question back and I responded in similar fashion. After a moment's pause he asked. "What if I were gone for, say, six years. Would you remarry?" The groggy conversation ensued with me finally determining that if something were to ever happen to him, I would wait six years before getting remarried. That would give him enough time do to whatever he needed to and then come back.

"If I were to die, would you remarry?" I ask turning in the bed to face the dark lump of my husband, Greg.

"Wha?" he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "Maybe, I guess. It all depends."

I sigh, thinking of the latest book I'd been listening to which broached the topic.

"Would you remarry, Susan?" he asks.

"It depends."

"What if I disappeared for six years? Would you remarry then, beautiful?"

"Six years? Is that how long this is going to take?"

He doesn't reply and I hear his even breathing of sleep. I lay there for a moment longer when a coughing fit strikes. So as not to disturb my husband, I roll out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen for a drink of water. After a minute or two I stumble back into the bedroom. The lump signifying my husband is gone. With the bed completely stripped and every light on in our small house on, I sit in the middle of the floor shivering. The police find no evidence. Greg is soon forgotten by almost everyone.

#

"It's been six years," Janet says stirring her hot chocolate.

I don't reply and remain focused on the rain outside the window. Not quite six years. In three days it would be exactly six years. Only Jeffery was in my life now. Greg seemingly a fragment of my imagination who came to visit my dreams occasionally.

"Hasn't Jeffery asked you?"

"Several times," I reply pulling my gaze away from the gray world. "Maybe next time—"

"If there is a next time. You've been stringing him along for three years. He's not going to stick around much longer."

I twist the wedding ring on my finger. I can't, not until I'm sure. The idea of getting married when Greg might come back, awful. Even if he is only a figment of my imagination, he still tugs at me. The phone rings and I move over to get it.

"Hey, sexy," Jeffery's voice heats my face. "Have any plans tonight?"

"What do you think?" I reply.

"I think you want to join me for a romantic evening."

I chew my lip, "Jeffery, I already told you."

"I know. This is purely a platonic romantic evening."

I remain silent listening to my own heartbeat waver slightly at the sound of his voice.

"Please, Susan. I promise I will remain completely respectable."

Guilt pricks me, and I lean my head against the wall. "What time?"

"I'll be there at 5:00. Wear something slinky."

"Jeffery."

"Sorry, Sorry. Something nice. Love you."

He hangs up before I can even think of replying.

"So, have a hot date?" Janet asks.

I think about throwing the phone at her.

#

"I just want you to think about it," Jeffery says, pushing the little box towards me. "I don't need an answer right away."

"No," I use my fork to push it back. "I've already told you."

"Blast it all, Susan. Are you just going to pine away waiting for a husband who is long dead?"

"Greg," my voice cracks and tears blur my vision for a moment. "I can't, not when Greg."

"He's dead."

I shake my head and stand up, clutching my purse in one hand and rubbing my arm where goose bumps had been for years.

"You were only married for what, a year? Is one year of marriage really worth six years of loneliness?"

"I'm not lonely." The words fall hollow on my ears. Three more days. That's all I need to be sure.

"Don't lie to yourself. I know you sleep on the couch every night."

"Where I sleep has nothing to do with you," I try to keep my voice even but a lump in my throat flubs the whole thing. "I explained everything to you when we first started seeing each other."

"Fine. Whatever," he throws his napkin down on the table and pushes back his chair.

Everyone in the restaurant stares as he stalks out of the building. Leaving me with the check. I put it on my credit card and stare at the uneaten food. I drop my purse on the floor and eat the whole piece of triple chocolate, molten fudge cake. I feel sick. For a moment I hate Greg.

I don't go to work the next day and ignore the ringing phone, stuffing my head under a pillow until I fall asleep again.

#

"I'm sorry," I mumble raising my head from the couch. "I didn't mean to doubt you."

The dream Greg fades and I look into the concerned face of Jeffery. I hastily scramble away from him, pulling the blanket closer.

"Why do you put yourself through this? I'm just as good as Greg."

"I never said you weren't," I reply looking for any way to get around him or remove him from my house.

"See, so marry me."

"But I love Greg," I whisper, finally voicing my inner thoughts.

"But he left you."

"You don't know that."

Jeffery storms off, throwing his hands in the air. I make a break for it and duck into the bedroom I rarely enter.

"Good morning, beautiful," a voice says softly.

The chill in my bones slowly disperses as I look at the familiar figure lying stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Something smashes against the door and we listen as Jeffery storms out of the house. Greg looks over at me, his eyes bright and mischievous.

I fold my arms across my chest, "You have some explaining to do."

"Susan, it's not what you think."

I pick up a pillow and thwack his chest with it. "You can explain in the morning."

He rolls over, leaning on his hand and looking at me.

"Tonight, you sleep on the couch," I say and walk from the room.

He is alive. I can marry without guilt, as soon as I find someone to love and finalized the divorce.

Broken vs. Imperfect

This week I came to an understanding that my husband and I think very differently when it comes to home repair. Our definition of "in need of replacement" varies vastly. He is under the impression that if something is not in perfect working order, it needs to be replaced. I think it only needs to be replaced if it is broken.

A year ago our water heater broke; water was dripping from the bottom and putting out the pilot light. Luckily our home warranty covered the repair. The only problem was when the house was remodeled, the furnace and water heater were install and then the wall was built around them. The only way to get the old water heater out and put the new one in was to cut a fairly sizable hole in the wall. New water heater went in without a problem but we just didn't have the funds at the time to do any permanent fix to the wall. Currently covering the hole is a closet door we no longer use. This is mostly to keep the cat out of the area. It does look pretty ridiculous but I never thought about bothering to replace it yet.

We went to Lowe's last night for a couple of home improvement items that have been weighing on my husband's mind. He'd already been once and I was just going back with him after work. We found a door that would fit the hole at a reasonable price. I said let's get it. He said no. He hadn't expected us to buy it that night. We then went looking for blinds but we'd left the paper with the exact measurements at home. The sales clerk plugged in our estimated numbers (we remembered the width and knew a rough length) then asked if we wanted to order them. He said yes. I said no. I wasn't going to order blinds if I wasn't exactly sure of the length. I can shorten them but I can't lengthen them.

As we walked back through the store he continued:
Husband: "Let's go look at ______ because have you noticed it's a little loose?"
Me: "But it still works."
Husband: "But it's loose."
Me: "But it isn't broken."

*Roll Over

Intro: The other night in bed my husband and I were going over nursery rhymes. Trying to be funny he added on to one I had said, "And they all rolled over and one fell . . . dead." I shuddered at first because of how gruesome it was then we tried to figure out why that would be true. This is the story from that. Once again, thank my husband for the idea. It still needs to be a little flushed out but I hope you enjoy it.

Kendal used to think silence was horrifying. Now he would do anything to get it back. Well, almost anything. Death was not an option.

"Rise and shine," a voice to his right gasped over the sound of the turning gears and dripping water.

"Rise?" A wave of panic shifted through Kendal.

If John was giving in, he didn't know how long he would be able to last without him. Though he had never seen John, he felt something for the man, stronger than the bond with his own brothers. He and John were brothers in blood. Once again he turned his head the few inches to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. A black cloth hung down blocking any view.

"I don't think I can take another day, Kenny," John coughed a guttural wet noise that anywhere else would have got immediate admittance to a doctor.

"Of course you can, Johnny."

The hated nickname didn't even get a cough in protest. Kendal's heart sank even further.

"Don't leave me," he whispered the words.

"Remember those old nursery rhymes and sayings: 'When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,' 'Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back.' 'Jack jumped over the candlestick, burned his fingers and burned his toes, that's the way the story goes.'"

He didn't like where this was headed. John's voice softened by the moment. All he could do was stare up at the black ceiling flinching when a drop of water struck some part of his face. The whirring noises of some unseen device drowned John out for a moment. A faint breeze ruffled Kendal's long stringy hair. He didn't even know how long he'd been strapped to the table. A week or thirty years, he couldn't tell. The noise finally died down and Kendal strained to hear the last of John's words.

"'And the little one said, 'Roll over, Roll over.' So they all rolled over and one fell dead.' Good night, Kenny."

"John!" He watched the cloth separating them flutter with movement.

Something snapped with a metallic clang and there was at thud. It took all of his willpower not to move and see what happened. He lay there, head turned to the side, acutely aware of a large metal pin sticking between his shoulder blades.

"Roll over," he murmured and imagined hearing the metal pin beneath him, snapping into place no longer held down by his body weight.

Another drop hit his cheek sliding down as a tear. He clenched his hands, securely fastened to his belt and waited for the unseen figures to take his dead friend away. The first time he'd heard the door open there had been two other people in the room somewhere with him, hidden by the black cloth surrounding his prone bed. That was the first time he heard the snap of the pin. He'd screamed for help and been cut short. He shivered at the memory. Out of courtesy to the other prisoners, no one else screamed when they rolled over to die. Those who rolled over were disposed by spikes in the floor activated by the released pin.

The small shaft of light visible over the top of the curtain at the foot of his bed disappeared with the clanging door. The noises increased and Kendal was left feeling empty as he stared at the still cloth next to him. Day and night passed interchangeably to him, and true to the request, no one else was brought in. Kendal missed having someone to talk to.

"Roll over, Roll over," he said through cracked lips.

Though the iv kept him alive, it wasn't by much. He'd even lost count of the number of times people have come and changed the bags. The pin at his back felt like a sword, slowly driving itself through his skin.

"Roll over, roll over."

He closed his eyes and rocked but he didn't have enough strength to even lift his shoulder off the slab. Gritting his teeth, Kendal tried again, this time almost getting his left shoulder up. He felt the pin recede back in place under him.

"Roll over," he grunted as he threw all the moment he had into turning.

The pin snapped up and Kendal grimaced as fell back on the slab, his back slamming into the upright pin. The end of the slab with his feet dropped leaving him groaning the pin holding him in place partially by his shirt, partially by his skin. He looked down at the gaping hole around the table and at the very bottom spikes loomed up out of the darkness.

The pain made it nearly impossible to focus on what he was seeing but after a moment his eyes strayed to a portion of the hole that didn't shine in the faint light. A small staircase led out of the hole. He shifted his shoulders and the pin gave way. He fell to the floor with a thud, catching the side of his leg on a spike, but otherwise unharmed. He used the point of one of the spikes to tear through the leather straps at his wrist freeing his hands. The injuries to his back and leg seemed to dull as he walked around the spikes, his gazed permanently fixed on the staircase. At the foot of the staircase he leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"And they all rolled over and one fell free."

Greetings, Program

A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I went and saw Tron: Legacy. I had heard mixed reviews about it and was not deterred in the least. The movie was exactly what I expected it to be. Nothing fancy when it comes to plot, cool special affects and left me feeling happy inside. I decided that I am not a complicated person when it comes to movies. There are times that I really want to be surprised with twists and turns in the plot that make it completely unique, (like the first time I watched The Six Sense) and other times I want something that is completely straightforward that will entertain me (Disney movies, such as Tron). My biggest issue with the movies that have so many twists and turns and surprises in the plot is I don't enjoy re-watching them as much because the surprise factor is no longer there. While the plot is still excellent it just isn't the same ever again.

So back to Tron. I laughed. I cheered. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. (Not to mention the music was just awesome! I am totally stealing — borrowing — the CD from my brother. Ha! That is part of his rent payment; let me have it for a day and he can turn up the temperature one degree for a night. Seems fair to me. Hey, Bubbo —) It was exactly what I anticipated it to be which made me happy.

*Future of the Fallen

Intro: It's later. So last week I did an exercise of dialog. This week I decided I liked the story so much, I would flush it out. Don't be surprised that the story is a little different. I mean, Molly isn't pregnant in the dialog but is in this new version. I wrote it with the intent of it being a prologue. That being said, it doesn't exactly end and it is more than a thousand words. I know I broke my own rule but hey, that means you get a little more to read than usual. Who knows when this story will actually be written completely but I promise you, it will be written. I guess I should add that the genre is specifically steam punk but I am putting it in science fiction because I don't normally write steam punk.

Molly pushed back another strand of hair and looked at the loaf of bread distastefully. She'd tried all morning to make something good from the flour they'd found and all she had to show for it was a small round blackened loaf. It could have passed for a rock amidst the rubble. This was not something she was suppose to be eating in her condition.

"Molly, are you here?" Thad called, from the front of the house.

"Where else would I be?" she murmured but raised her voice. "Aye. I'm in the kitchen."

"Well, hurry up and pack."

"Pack? For what?"

"The sky is Fallen."

"Is that all?" Molly sighed and turned back to the small loaf. She'd hoped it was something important instead of yet another Fallen.

"What would it take you to pack?" Thad said, sticking in head in the kitchen door. "Come on. Hurry up."

She left the loaf on the cutting board and turned towards her husband. He stepped out of the way as she brushed past him, her long skirts sweeping the dirt floor. The small bedroom had three stable walls and one wall made of rubble. A small breeze always drifted through the cracks of the rocks and made the evenings especially cold. The boxes which acted as her dresser remained stacked precariously in the corner. His boxes lay scattered, empty on the ground.

"We have to hurry if we are going to make the steam bus."

"I'm going. If the world were burning."

"If the world were burning what?"

"That would get me to pack," she said with a smile as she reached for the small toolbox next to the bed. It would fit nicely next to the slips and blouses already packed. Then she could put the extra skirts on top.

"No, Molly, don't pack the wrenches. You may very well get your wish. I've never seen a Fallen like this one before."

The oil stained tool bag landed on the floor with a thump. She frowned at them over the skirts in her arms.

"Did you feel that? The whole house shook," Thad said feeling the doorframe he stood in.

She scurried over to her suitcase and let the bundle of clothing drop. Something screamed, a high metallic screeching noise, and the house shook again.

"They’re actually planning on landing," she said flipping the lid close and securing the buckles in place.

"Move!"

They ran, hand in hand through the small house. Thad picked up a suitcase similar to the one Molly carried as they dashed through the front room and out into the acrid air. The rubble skyline was punctuated with large ships. Each sip sported a dozen tentacles used during landing and ground momentum. The bulbous bodies held up in the air by giant steam turbines. As the ships continued to inch closer to the ground, the hot air from the engines pelted the ground in columns, which grew stronger by the moment.

So focused on the form above them, Molly slammed her foot into a large rock and only by seizing Thad's arm. He steadied her gently and placed his hand over hers on the handle.

"Give me the bag."

"I can get it," she said, brining her attention back down from the sky.

The gusts from one of the columns of steam blasted down on them sending small rocks and other debris pelting into them. Her hair, normally contained neatly in a knot, blew free, the long black locks dancing in the air.

"It will be faster this way. Besides, we can't have you getting injured."

Every intention she had on protesting died with her as the screaming noise resumed. She glanced up at the ship closest to them and saw the first hints of flames from the engines. Most of the time the bots used the tentacles on the ground but not always. Sometimes it was easier to hover over it. That always required a lot of heat, and fire.

"Don't look at it," Thad said adjusting the suitcases in his hands.

"We must look like ants to them."

"Come on, we still have to make it to the bus."

Molly nodded and picking up her heavy wool skirts in her hands, followed after Thad. He led the way around the rubble on the ground. Stories explained the large rocks came from buildings which stretched hundreds of feet into the air. They were nothing but fairy tales though, and everyone knew it. Any history before the bots had long been destroyed.

Another scream sounded and Molly looked up at the ship as a particularly torrential blast of air struck the ground directly in their path. The waves of heat made her skin fell as if it were an onion being peeled layer by layer. She quickly covered her eyes. A moment later the blast slated, the engine needing to be refueled. Thad lay on the ground, staring up at the sky, his face lobster red. The ground beneath him turned red from his empty trouser leg.

"Thad?"

His eyes twitched and he groaned. Her eyes futile scanned the blackened landscape. Nothing moved save what was propelled by the blasting air.

"Bus."

"I won't—without you." she said moving closer to him. It took all of her will power to focus on his face and not his missing leg. "Can you walk?"

Now that she was even closer she saw that his other leg was useless. Torn by a thousand flying blades of debris.

"You have to go. You hold the future."

"I won't Thaddeus Jackson. We are the future. I didn't get pregnant on my own."

Another blast caught her by surprise and the force pushed her back a few steps.

"Run!"

"No!" She wiped her eyes, trying to hide the tears and clear them from the dust. Her mind raced as she looked around and caught sight of a glint of copper moving between the blocks.

"The bus. I'll go get help." She said turning to Thad who twitched, his eyes closed.

With her long skirts hiked up further than appropriate she scampered around the blocks. The bus past her and she waved frantically. The breaks squealed as it pulled to a stop. With her chest rising and falling in great gasps she stumbled up to the open door.

"Sir," she said stepping onto the lowest stair and looking up at the driver. "You have to help me, my husband."

The door squeaked shut behind her, nearly catching her still loose hair in the hinge.

"Sorry, gal. We're moving on."

She turned and looked out the dusty window. Thad's form was invisible as the bus pulled away.

"No, we have to get him!"

The bus skidded on two metal wheels as a blast of air shot down right next to it. She quickly moved her hands away from the metal and glass, now throbbing with the heat.

"He's Fallen. Nothing more to do."

She stared blankly out the window as the giant bot ships fine-tuned the engines, no longer descending but holding their positions forty feet above the ground. Just over the tallest of the buildings.

"Would you look at that," another passenger said, "the fires a starting."

As the flames from the engines danced over the sides and dripped onto the ground, Molly buried her head in her arms, thinking of her unborn child and her undoubtedly dead husband. The bus sped out of the newly Fallen city.

New Year's Resolutions

One of my co-workers has a biweekly poll. This week's poll is about overdone New Year's Resolutions. I don't think a resolution can be overdone. I sometimes think it is sad that every year I have the same general idea, health and fitness, but I enjoy them. We need these resolutions to kick start us into doing something we should be doing all year round. For some people the goals actually stick and they no longer have to be resolutions. It's just life. But for those of us who need that reminder and motivation, I say bring it on there's nothing wrong with trying to improve yourself.

Last year I had some lofty goals, especially involving my writing. I am proud to say that although I don't have any novels published or anything of that sort, three of my short stories were picked up by a publisher this year and are in anthologies. That's definitely a good start and this year is only going to get better. That and the fact that I was able to update my website to better accommodate my flash fiction section makes me a happy person. Now let the wild rumpus start.

*Fallen

Intro: Okay, I know this is really random but I just had to try it. A couple of weeks ago Brandon Sanderson challenged people to write dialogue without tags or blocking. It has to have a sf/fantasy element, at least two distinct characters, and a problem. This was my attempt, and who knows, I actually kind of like the world and may create something more from it later.

"Get a move on."

"Oy, give me a moment, Thad. Just because the sky is Fallen don't give ya any right to rush me."

"And what would give me the right?"

"Let's see—"

"Pack while you think, the steam bus isn't going to wait around all day."

"I'm going, I'm going. Don't get ya britches in a twist."

"Don't get my britches in a twist?"

"Ah, if the world were burning."

"If the world were burning what?"

"Then ya'd have the right to rush me."

"Are you still stuck on that? No, Molly, don't pack the wrenches."

"And how do ya expect us to work?"

"I already packed one set and I don't plan on carrying your bag when you get tired."

"Well ain't ya just the gentleman."

"Shush"

"Thad—"

"Did you hear that?"

"Ya hand's foul. Get it away from me."

"Quiet—did you feel that?"

"The whole house shook. What could cause that?"

"They've started to land. Get moving!"

"Right. Did you get all of the tools we need?"

"Don't take me for a fool, of course I did. Watch your head."

"Ouch. Ya said you were going to raise that beam."

"Don't have to worry about that now, do we? House will be rubble soon enough."

"Always trying to take the easy way out, ain't ya? Whoops—"

"Youch, get your nails out of my arm. If you paid attention to where you walked, you wouldn't trip on the rubble. Pick up your feet."

"I'm trying."

"Here give me that bag, Molly."

"Oy, give it back. I don't need ya help."

"Just give it here. Now use your hands to pick up your skirts so you don't trip over them."

"Lor, would ya look at that."

"Don't make eye contact."

"We must look like wee ants to their ships way up there."

"They're more advanced, who knows what they can see."

"Ya just paranoid."

"You should be too. It doesn't even bother you that the sky is Fallen, again. This time they might actually bring out the lasers, then where would we be."

"We'd make it, somehow."

"Right. Because obviously we've made it in the past."

"Look out! — Are ya alright? Thad?"

"It hurts."

"I — wait here."

"Don't leave me."

"I'll be right back, just, I need to find someone to help. We can fix this—"

"Stop lying. No one will come."

"They might."

"Get to that bus."

"Can ya walk? Oh my—there's so much blood—"

"Yes."

"But what about the rubble? We still have a couple of blocks."

"You can."

"I'm not leaving ya, Thaddeus Johnson. Get that fool idea out of ya head right now."

"I can't."

"Flippendy. Of course you can. Don't laugh at me."

"Flipp—"

"Whatever. Come on, we've gotta get going."

"Mind my—sprockets!"

"Ya shouldn't swear. It ain't respectable and ya've always been respectable."

"Respectable."

"Save ya breath. We gotta take the long way round since ya can't climb no more. I mean what with the sky Fallen and everything. So soon, too. Remember the last time, down in the bunker. Mr. Klansdale opened the door an—"

"Molly?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"What do you see?"

"Just round this corner. We'll be there soon."

"What?"

"Focus on moving, Thad. Ya still losing a lot of blood. I should tie that up with something. Never thought I'd play doctor. Hold off here. Just lean up against this wall. Don't want ya sitting down. No—wait, face this way."

"What's happened?"

"Bloody sprockets, ya leg's a mess. Hope ya don't mind pink. It being the biggest ribbon."

"I've never seen them this close."

"What'cha talking about?"

"The bots. I've never seen them landing."

"Come on. We need to keep moving."

"Almost pretty."

"Them almost pretty things killed us all, remember."

"Molly, we're not going to make it."

"—I know."

"May your road lead every onward."

"Thad?"

"Run."

"I ain't leaving ya."

"Run, Molly. I can see the bus. Run."

"I'll get help."

"That's my girl. Just keep running!"

"Sir, sir. You have to stop this bus. My husband—"

"Sorry gal. We're moving on."

"No! We have to get him."

"He's a Fallen now."

"—"

"Would ya look at that, the fires a starting."

"All is Fallen now."