the irony of dying on your birthday

West · (This post was last modified: January 30, 2017, 07:38 PM by West.)

[table width=80%][tr][td]

Snow flutters across her coat like a shaken snow globe, and her head spins similarly too. She squeezes her eyes together and scrunches up her face, unaware of the new company she has. Her eyes fly open after a second and what should have been an unblotted expanse of prairie is interrupted by a dark woman directly meeting her gaze. West blinks a few times and shakes her head, trying to lift it a fraction higher to sweep up what is left of her dignity. By then, another—opposite in appearance as the first—comes to scrutinize the situation. Her head bobbles in her direction.

“Fuck,” she says as she swings away. Her attention refocuses on her legs that ache to move with fire in her joints numbed by the cold. When she is halfway to standing, she turns away from the two as her back arches and bile hacks out of her mouth, staining the snow a dark yellow as her stomach lurches a second time into a second spot. “I feel like a mountain fell on me.” Her legs shake beneath her, never quite able to get her to full mast as she sways to and fro, final falling back on her rump between the two women.

[/td][/tr][/table]