The train car is wreckage. Smoke and heat rapidly fill the space and it's getting harder to breathe or see anything. I pull the chain, her hand first hangs in the air lifelessly like a puppet's, but then I see her fingers twitch. I pull her up. Come on, sweetheart, wakey-wakey! I wouldn't like to chop your hand off to get out of here. So, move! Let's steal the show while we can.
Comments
0No comments yet.