Stavanger Bay III. Say you want to see my blue jeans, hanging on your old clothes-line.

Part III. Dated 5/12.

Running, running, running.

Old paths. Familiar paths.

Things were coming together. Bleeding together.

Old ways. Familiar ways.

A gasp hitched in her throat as another flare of agony stole through her gut, setting her skin on fire.

"No," she choked wetly into the wind. She wasn't ready -- she was too far. Her feet sunk into churning sand, and she pressed on past the thinning, stunted coastal pines. She would make it -- she had no choice.

In her wake, little drops of scarlet were greedily lapped up by the sand.