the needle and the damage done

ten more steps toward you, and she freezes in horror.

her eyes refuse to recognize what she is seeing, but her mind knows it is real, and that tall crown on your beautiful hair is made of flames.  it wreathes you, chars you, and you are screaming but she cannot hear it through the sounds of buildings toppling and car alarms jangling.  glass crashes against glass and sickening crunches echo all around her.

she is locked where she stands in the eye of the storm, paralyzed by horror while your skin melts like waxwork dribbling and the sickening red blisters give away to black wounds blossoming across your chest like burning flowers.  you are screaming until the very end.

only then does she rush to you, knowing that it is too late.  the glass slices her feet, and smoldering fires blister her legs as she tries to wade past her own chaos.  she parts time in molecules, trying to run but it's not fast enough.  it's never fast enough.

she reaches for your burnt fingertips, straining desperately.

five steps away, another car explodes and the shrapnel flies in every direction.  it catches her in the chest, drags her back through piles of broken clocks.  she screams your name but then the rubble comes down and now she knows nothing now but hot pain and black.