“Where did you learn to fight like some tribal warrior queen?”

“Experience with some tribal warrior queens.”

Our eyes lock across the heap of body parts.

“Don’t even try shutting me out of this, you can’t protect me. I’m in this up to my neck, I know more about it than you do.”

“I know you’re more a part of this than I ever dreamed of being, but you deserve better. I’m guessing you grew up fighting, and I want to give you another life.”

“Ever occur to you this is the life I wanted?”

“Bodies drop everywhere you go and you have no one standing by your side to help you through it. I know it’s impossible for you to trust after everything you’ve been through, but I’m trying to prevent further damage.”

“I’m not consumer goods you can sell as slightly used so long as all my pieces look like they’ll stay attached. You don’t get to shield me, and you certainly don’t get to prevent damage.”

“Well, at least I can talk to you. Most people don’t, do they?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“I know you’re not a pretty girl anymore.”

“And that’s about it, huh?”

“That’s it.”

Thank you for reading. My last story is available here for anyone interested in a tale of bright futures with a dark twist, inspired by a famous love.

Or- if you’re looking for futuristic dystopian lit and love symbolism- check this out:


I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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