You Never Came, Chapter 4, Paragraph 1

The cold was invisible and Tuesday drove through it. It was dark. It was like dawn was night. The vents vented heat. All they did was dry the air. She hunched and shook and shivered as she held the wheel. When she pulled off it was to pee. When she cried it was because it felt so good to close her eyes then. The gas station was just something else she left. The road she drove on was a floating bridge. It was a pass that lead into a tunnel. This town was the last place before the land gave way to the water then the sky. Tuesday coasted through an intersection. She stopped at a green light. She found a space, took a breath. The world was just sheets of colors as her lashes locked. When she started she was startled. She sat there. She felt all punched and crushed. It was the spreading dim coming from the sun through the clouds. It was because it made the world look gutted. It was because it made the world look like something that'd been shot.