Some sort of goods and ware exchange.I was a good runner and prided myself with decent endurance, but I had to slow down. For one thing, a running person attracted more eyes and of course, I was reaching my limits.I had reached the edge of the landing field and what seemed a shanty town made of tents, makeshift shacks and transport containers of a dozen societies or more, converted into buildings or dwellings of sorts.Looking back I noticed at least five or six beings following me. One of them raised a weapon, I jumped over a pile of boxes, while a sharp crack and a heavy something shattering the boxes told me that at least one of them was out to kill me.Dropping to one knee, I took a heartbeat to get my breathing under control, ignored another projectile impact shattering something close to my left and took aim, the line blast hit the running shooter and made the rest dive for cover.I somersaulted right over the next pile of crates, a calloused dark red hand got a hold of my arm and. I didn't turn on the light – bathrooms have mirrors, and I desperately didn't want to see myself. I fumbled for the toilet seat, lifted it, undid my jeans, and pushed them down. Steadying myself on the wall, I sat, and let flow.My pee smelled and stung. I peed a lot. Dehydration. Drink water dummy.And then I was like, Why? I was supposed to be dead. Peace and quiet and dead. Why couldn't I be dead? I couldn't even kill myself successfully, not even with pills and a bridge to jump off of. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK. I felt tears tickle the corners of my eyes. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want anything. What I wanted was nothing, or really, nothingness. I just wanted everything to be over.Sniffling, I wiped, pulled up my pants, flushed, and turned to the sink. Dixie cups, in a little dispenser. It was like I was a little girl again, playing with the Dixie cups in the bathroom and "slubbing" in the sink. Mamma!Mamma. Crap.I filled a little cup with water and drank, filled it again, drank again,.
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