Thursday, December 31, 2015

pony noir | part eight : float away

[part 1 : part 2 : part 3 : part 4 : part 5 : part 6 : part 7]

It turned sour like a popping kumquat; the thought came too late. I played the safe bet, and unsurprisingly, I lost. Every steaming breath was one closer., one closer.

I should've charged the door ten minutes before, but I held out. Now I was warm, warm and tired. Hypothermia had me.

I suddenly remembered work yielded heat, but it was too late. My legs were rubber, and I was about drift away. My muscles weren't mine any more. Took a tumble with the frigid air and lost it all.

That same damn thought was trying to force its way through, but I wasn't really there anymore.

"Work equals heat."
"All work produces heat.'
"All work..."

I was too loopy to feel the deck beneath me when I drifted away.

Cut to black, everypony.


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