Super Heroes In Worn Sweatshirts

Handcuffs on her dress. Ratcheting tight on her vagina. She claimed she always crossed her legs, but he knew better.

Examing her throat for indications of words not said. The tick of her lips quitetly counting off to the explosion. He was already digging. Arranging the jump in his head. Full of numbers multiplying too rapidly. Nine hundred ninety nine steps to the edge. The square root of zero is nothing. She counted the seconds until the seconds grew bored of her. Driving nowhere. Chasing the moon as it chased her. In a marathon of words all aborted. The mathmatics of second chances is that there are none.

Heroes in thick glasses wishing cellphones hadn't been invented.

Even he did it all to save himself.

Lucky for us he never did.

Save us.

Fathom the darkenss. Calculating eternity. In glimpses of stars long dead.