The Story in the Crew Seat in the Back

I can't die. I know I can't. Sara went to see her too and she said she was good, that everything she said was true. And everything else she said is right, so this can't be right. Can it?

Remember the feel of her hands on mine, her fingers were oily. Kind of like she'd smeared them with way to much cream. Made me want to wipe my hands, but of course I didn't because I have manners.

Think of her eyes. Dark brown, shiny but kind too. Like coffee without cream, with that warmth to them that you can cup your hands around.

What did she say? Word for word? Can't remember. Think of her voice. Rattly and hollow. She smokes I bet.

I want to jiggle my leg. But if I move it I don't think I can sit still any more and I'll have to run right out of here. There's no air. I'm hyperventillating, that's what this is, a panic attack.

Anyways she took my hand and she looked at my palm. I know those lines. We used to do it in school. When you'd get married and how many kids you'd have. How long you'd live.

But my lifeline is so long. I can't be halfway up it yet.

She said she saw children. She did. So I can't die. See? I just can't.

The End

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