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SouthEast

By @EverestNeverlynn

Last night I had a dream that I was lying in a bed with a big white ceiling looming over me. The only thing that I can really compare it to was the hospital, but I guess this one was a lot harsher. There were machines, doctors, people bustling around and about and I thought for a moment that I really was in the hospital. But then I woke up, like I always do. And I’m reminded that I really, truly, am not.

I grab the long piece of fabric that I’ve basically tied together to make a type of wrapping and tie down my breasts as tight as I can get it and my chest aches with the familiarity. Then I pull on my shirt, hiding the only give away as I arm myself with bullets and a gun. I don’t know the name of these things. They don’t tell you the name. They just give you a gun and tell you how much ammo it needs and then expect you to remember it. Or at least, that’s how it was for me.

I have a rifle that can shoot fifty. It’s semi-automatic, or at least that’s I think it’s called.

And then I have a handgun but I’m lucky if I can squeeze twelve in there.

And then I have a knife. It’s a wicked, long, sharp lookin thing that would probably split someone’s skin open just from touching it, so I try to be careful with that one especially.

However, on the ammo side, I’m drawing the short straw.

I’ve got twenty for the rifle and five for my handgun and I am not expecting to get more anytime soon. Not unless someone makes a go on the Keepers; then they’ll put a bounty up and I can get some more.

Lord knows I wish I had more. But women don’t get time to ask for more, they get a handful of life supplies and are told to go for it and so that’s what I’m going to do. I run a hand through my hair, making sure that it’s not much longer than my thumb before strapping the knife and handgun to my thighs.

“Stealth, Bi, stealth. It’s all about the stealth this time. You get into that apartment and you grab it and get the **** out.” I repeat that sentence about four times in my head, reminding myself that all it takes is two bullets to the chest or one to the head and I’m a goner.

Lord if anyone could make me feel worse about accepting this mission it would be me. I throw the rifle strap over my head and secure it on my chest. Then I grab my motorcycle helmet. Typically I wouldn’t wear this as this is a “for emergencies only”, kind of thing. But the last thing I want is these dudes being able to recognize me so I put it on quickly, latching the thing on like it’s a hard hat and I’m going into a construction zone.

Only difference is: this is not a hard hat, and I’m not going into a construction zone.

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