She thought it would be. Had banked on it, by finding a quiet place to hole herself up in while the flowers took away her vision, her mobility, ate away at her heart to the point she thought she could hear someone's voice coming from the rock she had forgotten to take out of her pocket. The pleading hadn't been entirely external and she remembers wishing-
Pleading. Hoping that the please help me please help me that echoed through her mind wasn't loud enough for anyone else to hear.
She wishes it had been quieter, like now. The silence of whatever room she's in as her consciousness floods back only broken up by the sound of a familiar cough. And she's terrified that the disease hasn't run its course. That someone found her. That people are around her are covered in petals and blood and it's that thought that makes her squeeze her eyes shut.
The fact she can do that is what throws her off and she curls her her fingers into her palms, wiggles her toes, turns her head to face the ground and-
She presses her hands against her eyes, slowly fanning her fingers and squinting through the breaks between them to soften the view of whatever she's about to witness. More flowers-more flowers she's going to ignore because they're not on her body or something she wants to think about ever again. It's the man in her immediate line of sight that grabs her attention. It's someone she can't-won't-ignore. Battered and bruised in a way she doesn't seem to be, but he's not sick and that's what makes her push herself up, hurry to his side and press her face into his back.
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She thought it would be. Had banked on it, by finding a quiet place to hole herself up in while the flowers took away her vision, her mobility, ate away at her heart to the point she thought she could hear someone's voice coming from the rock she had forgotten to take out of her pocket. The pleading hadn't been entirely external and she remembers wishing-
Pleading. Hoping that the please help me please help me that echoed through her mind wasn't loud enough for anyone else to hear.
She wishes it had been quieter, like now. The silence of whatever room she's in as her consciousness floods back only broken up by the sound of a familiar cough. And she's terrified that the disease hasn't run its course. That someone found her. That people are around her are covered in petals and blood and it's that thought that makes her squeeze her eyes shut.
The fact she can do that is what throws her off and she curls her her fingers into her palms, wiggles her toes, turns her head to face the ground and-
She presses her hands against her eyes, slowly fanning her fingers and squinting through the breaks between them to soften the view of whatever she's about to witness. More flowers-more flowers she's going to ignore because they're not on her body or something she wants to think about ever again. It's the man in her immediate line of sight that grabs her attention. It's someone she can't-won't-ignore. Battered and bruised in a way she doesn't seem to be, but he's not sick and that's what makes her push herself up, hurry to his side and press her face into his back.