â€œRemember when we still had imagination?â€ Alice asked. Her hair was icicles in November, unhealthy
slowly melting. She had an electric skull barrette pinned in it, web
humming softly, medstore
pulsing cerulean in the eyes.
â€œYou can do whatever you set your mind to,â€ machine told her. His teeth clattered in the cold. Mist rose from his mouth, steam engine heart. His eyes burned like stars dying in distant galaxies.
They walked hand-in-hand through crumbling cemeteries, past synagogues in shambles, statues covered in moss and dust. Skeleton hand clung to a rose bush. â€œWeâ€™re all dyinâ€™ on the inside,â€ she sang. Hand squeezed multicolored beads around her neck.