All of our heroes are human, we created super heroes to exonerate our heroes flaws then begged, cried and fought to make them human.
We need a super hero, but, the sudden chill droplets of blood running down her forehead convince Daisy that the caped crusader failed to save her from a friend — best friends birthday party. Signals to her arms and feet travel into the great abyss beyond her concniousness. She leans on the cusp of a white light, a snow static noise buried between her ears.
Does dying feel this stressful to the others? Colleen turned the knob to the door of the cozy rancher in the excitement of screaming surprise. Weeks of planning Shandras party came to fruition once her lovely Trevor an executive supervisor whisked away Shandra long enough to pile the home with close friends.
Trevor invested in Shandra, the time, the effort. Shandra experienced too little freedom to express her great love to others. Now, Daisy mused, Shandra, fighting the bullet wounds , scrapes the tile floor in an army crouch. Shandra shuffles towards a lifeline, Daisy can only assume is her phone out of reach above her head. Daisy can confirm her best-friends shuffling above her. There, Shandras arms slap the tile with a white smack, in the wake of the other arm lifting and falling the gentle peel of blood releases her arm only to drop on the floor. A constant smack and peeling on and on and on.
A deep part of nagging doubt chewing on a tendon that I cannot shake whispers through the small chips of my mind.
A part of me wants her to slip far off the ledge of life. To lose her grip with time and slowly drift off into the deep cavern of death. I am moments from death myself, I wish nothing more than my best friend dying.
If she would die, that would soothe the small parasite gritting their microscopic teeth from inside my head. If she would stop. Please — stop, Die.