longing for home again
"I have to go."
She's been fifteen since October, not that she's been keeping track. One day she realized it was November, and that she must be older, now, and that she should cut her hair short to make it harder to grab, and that was all. There's snow on the ground now, and it's frozen and cold even where it's not blasted to hell and back by the hospital's spreading shadow.
She's never going to be able to trust doctors again, she thinks, and reaches out to touch the closest wooden cross.
"I'd bring you with me, but we've got to go now, says the sheriff, and I can't miss this way out. I can't stay with you anymore, and I'm sorry, I am. I would if I could, and I hope you both know that, 'cause I love you both and I wouldn't leave you if I had any choice but he said if I didn't go he'd drag me, and he's a good man so I don't feel like killing him."
She rubs her thumb over the snow on the carved names, brushing them clean, and settles back on her heels with her shotgun across her knees.
"So I'm going."
She kisses the top of each marker and stands up, hoisting her backpack and heading to the back entrance to the yard, and then back to the Dam Site Inn one last time.