<< Fallen Empire >>
August 03, 2004, 7:23 p.m.

There she was on the side of the road. Bare. Blue. Broken. Her lips were parted, no signs of struggle, no signs of hope. She did not want to breathe, and thus her slate gray hue.

This young thing did not have marks. Only skids. It appeared she had fallen off of something. It had been rumored that she slipped from the sky.

Who believes in fallen angels? No one. And yet. Here she is.

She lie on the side of the road with her lips parted and skin made of rubber. Her naked flesh was not humoring, nor tempting. Hair made of shredded wheat, and a face photocopied from Greek Mythology library volumes.

Another heartbeat in her womb. Her wings attached to her abdomen. The fetus strong and unaware of the lack of oxygen. There she was noticed. A small belly, but rapid movement within. She was pregnant, and like any mother, fell on her back to save the new.

This girl, you could tell, was not an amateur to living. She did not give up, but gave in to death's cliff. She understood transition and thus transfusion she performed. Her blood manufacturing his. His heart drinking from hers, and her heart draining into him.

This child would be oblivious to how he lie on the side of the road wrapped in his deceased mother's womb. He would never know how real his mother was, and how she gave her life for his. But when he passed the age she never felt, he would know she was not empty but full.

There she lie, on the side of the road, her face a Greek goddess, her hair soaked with dust, but now she rolls with the waves in slate gray ashes. Her son a peach, digging in his sandbox, trying to find her.

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