Monday 10/12/2009 01:19:00 AM

Some time later. Or what she thought was. She punched the the shift on the throttle. And braced herself. For the the impact. It was then. As she'd remembered. Everything an outline on a dirty page. All the colors disappearing.

She'd not built the time machine. Nor had she conceived of its construct. She was merely a passenger. A bit of roadkill on his foul cummerbund. As the party raged on without any people.

The windows slept. Loud and cruel. The stairway stumbled. Bright and abused. Too many eyes looking beyond. A hurricane of footsteps. Wholly unremarkable. The silken cloud between silent gallows. Awakened at last. By the sound of hanged men. And the fortunes of skin they've left behind.

The light. Too confident. Broken zippers on tomorrow. Too near to the brake. As the machine ceases abrupt. She'd not built the machine. But she had travelled in it. Years. On steroids. Picking fights. She'd seen ahead. But had only gone back. To them.

Men. Drunken condoms. Falling off like empty underwear. How. I'm not ready. The glass breaks. The tornado rushes in. And quickly forgets her.

She'd not built the machine. But she had certainly used it to her advantage. Moments. She knew. Were all she needed.

** Yes, that Primer.

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