“Give me your hand”, he said.
She hesitated. Trust, like the last set of pills she’s popped to suppress this new life within. They dream together. City burns. Chipped glass.
“We’ll be alright. Don’t you trust me?” He pulls out the needle.
Gasp. Waves it before her eyes.
“I couldn’t.”
You’ll be alright. Would you rather have that? There’s a finger pointed miles below. Armies of mutated humans running about. Children gunning down each other. Waves the needle. Aah, anarchy, my sweet. She pulls the needle from his hand.
“What then separates us from them.”
She pauses for a moment and then smiles as another ray is pilfered and stored in her little bottle. “Our sweat is what stands between us.”
I knew you’d know. We’re pure and they’re not. Don’t you see we’re bigger than them. “I want evidence.”
He pulls out his machete and slices the sky. Hidden remnants of quark soups spill out and she bottles it. We’ll bathe in cosmic glory. Just stare at the city from the edge of the sky and for once don’t ask how or why.
All we’ll ever need. Chew on crackers, and choke on technicolour. Dream, w/ needles by our bottles of alcohol. Over miles of depleted atmosphere and feather beds to fall. And when we’ve had our share and can take no more of this fucked up cesspool that’s torn, We’ll fade into the sunset of a nuclear war.
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