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dude it's so fucking hard to make 'hey it's ok maybe she was going to abort it anyway' sound poetic man. i really tried.
you are cassandra. in the middle of being possessed by the spirit of your vengeful, undead domain and feeling the world split apart with the festering carcass of your ex-lover being restored to grandeur only so she can be devoured completely, someone familiar approaches from the deck of a flying ship in active battle. your vision is warped, you're barely conscious, you don't know how it's possible that you're still alive, the figure blurs further and splits in two. one calls out to you, the same voice that has been reaching out for you all along, the same voice that called out your name the very first time and brought you to life. you ignore her. the other - clothes a little tighter, some subtle makeup, a pair of bicycle shorts patterned with a flag not known to this world. she opens her mouth - her teeth are horrible. 'blimey', she says, and you feel again. you feel something that crushes against your bones and shocks still your rotten heart. something cuts itself loose from your chest and escapes with a virulent tear of pain through your throat. lightning, bright and sharp, gushes from your screaming maw to its true purpose, and then she's gone. it's over. 'blimey', it whispers into the ethos, a memory as much as a promise to the tragedy of a dying star that may die forever. but you feel something else, you remember something or perhaps you are only now recognising it that nothing can be done. something else that lived in that void of space, you think. nothing more than a collection of cells yet, and still the weight pushes you to your knees. two lines on a stick, you reason, perhaps not even a choice to be made at all. surely not a life to be lived, you tell yourself as the memory of possibility dissolves and the void envelops the very space that baby might have occupied.
'blimey', the whispers consume what's left of your aching heart. 'blimey', you echo.