Re: [capital pawnshop: hannah & david]
She was standing there, true. A weed in a garden. A weed that watched while the other weeds were dug up. Or maybe she was more. Maybe she'd been born a weed, but then she'd blossomed into something with petals, and she was willing to mix birth and creation and scramble them together until they became her. She didn't think of herself as Amy. Amy was a journal in her head. Amy was knowledge and experience, but Amy wasn't her. She couldn't be Amy, even when she was meant to be Amy, because there were other things in her programming that got in the way of Amy. She was a girl built for sex, and she was made to be agreeable and want and want and want some more. She was built voracious, and she was built not to mind the most depraved things. To accept them as normal, and that explained why her petals had not sagged as she stood there, watching pee and dirt swirl together in a harbinger, because she knew David wasn't going to allow this man to live.
She wasn't Amy.
The dead man dug, and David touched her. He died, she said, and she thought about shadows as things with mouths a sharp teeth and pink tongues. The dead man dug deeper, and she quoted, and she didn't know he could see things, David, or she would've stayed away. Though, though, maybe not, because Hannah was up-close and tactile. She was a thing made for touching, and she craved it when it wasn't there. So she touched, and she tipped her head and looked at him.
Her rememberings were technicolor luminosity: A roof on a bright and crisp day. A blanket and wine and weed and laughter. A man in a fine suit, and more laughter and brightness. Blinding brightness, and being high, and feeling right. Acceptance. The feeling of acceptance. And then clouds began to close in and the bright day changed. The man was gone. The roof was gone. The blanket became a sidewalk and there was a man lying prone. His eye was an unnatural blue, and then it was gears and pieces and blood. So much blood as a heel impaled it over and over again. But there was peace, too. From the very first crunch of heel to eye socket, there was peace. Everything was going to be okay. Safe. You're safe.
And then she let her hand fall. "Are you going to bury him?" she asked.