Fallout (Crank 3)

I deliberately plop down on the bed,

calm my arterial stutter. No pacing

now, damn it. Now or ever, not here.

Instead, like an imprisoned wildcat,

I lock eyes with the human just

beyond the bars. The one staring

at me with interest I cannot tolerate.

“What about you, Simone? Why are

you here?” Come on, Ghost-girl. Tell

me your story, although I’m half-afraid

to hear it. Half-afraid. Half dying to, because

the eyes mine are locked to are haunted.

ZERO RESPONSE

So I prod just a bit. “Come on.

I told you my sordid little tale.”

Nothing.

I look over at Eliana and Rosa.

Both are wide-eyed, silent.

Nada.

Hmm. This one must be good.

“Is your dad, like, a serial killer?”

Zilch.

She shoots a dry-ice glare.

“Okay, fine. I don’t care, anyway.”

Empty.

I wish I were rooming with las

cubanitas. Even three to a room.

Vacant.

THANKFULLY

Tanya calls from way down the hall,