(no subject)
There was a little white cross in the sand, and Becky was kneeling in front of it. Stupid explosive damned Jackie Boy. She could still hear the threat in his voice, the promise in his eyes that he would not use her gently.
But the fucker was dead on her account, and she left some flowers by the cross. It'd been hard to find suitable materials to wrap him in, eventually going with old clothes from the box, and she sincerely hoped that detonator never washed ashore-- but it was done now, and she was--
--she didn't know what she was.
Stepping a few yards away from the makeshift grave, she sat down heavily, wanting to close her eyes and sleep.
But the fucker was dead on her account, and she left some flowers by the cross. It'd been hard to find suitable materials to wrap him in, eventually going with old clothes from the box, and she sincerely hoped that detonator never washed ashore-- but it was done now, and she was--
--she didn't know what she was.
Stepping a few yards away from the makeshift grave, she sat down heavily, wanting to close her eyes and sleep.