#doing my gay duty........coldman audrey

[enginire]

@nightcars.

day thirty eight. they are not coming back for me.

the shiver rocks her in and out of consciousness as she tucks herself down into the nest of blankets. there's a chill that runs a cold drip at the end of her nose, and a burrowing warmth from the small stack of hard-drives tucked neatly away in a bundle of tinfoil blankets and thermals — protect the data, at all costs. (this is all costs.)

wiIford comes, every so often — full furs and garish grins. poor meIanie. you should've known you couldn't take my train and get away with it. (it's cartoonish. like a fucking mobster out of an old black and white movie that audrey'd made her watch a few thousand times. badda-bing, badda-bum. you fuck wit' my train, i fuck wit' your life, capische? shit. he's not italian. jesus, even her hallucinations are starting to mutate.)

she's a ball in the corner, hidden under a mound of blankets in the cot, and her eyes close, then open, then close with residual energy gnawing away at the inside of her gut. nothing left. no more rats, no more food, no more heat. the solar panels are now buried in at least a foot of drift snow, and this is it. day thirty eight. if i don't get up soon, i won't get up again.

that doesn't sound so bad, all things considered — snowpiercer is a far-off dream. (ayup, poor meIanie. all that clever and you're going to rot like the fucking traitor you ar— shut up, joseph.) the door creaks open, and she figures it's wiIford finally taking his leave. the mumble in her lips is something close to thought you'd never leave but sounds more like thoyounelee, and her eyes stay cinched closed.