Then came a time of great passion, and of great fury; and it was wondrous to behold. She barely escaped into the streets with her skin, blazing acidic tears searing holes in the ground underneath her as she ran. The pistol in her hand was fully loaded, and the potential victims, targets of her rage, surrounded her. Once there was hope that you could find a desert island, a pillow, where you could start it all over, but they settled the last square of land, even that very last square, with people who knew damn well how to pretend they understood what love meant. Even there, hidden deep within the underground you couldn't trust even those who first taught you what was trust in the first place, only because, you couldn't trust yourself either, primarily because, desire first and foremost, desire first and foremost. Understanding the odds, they don't teach you very well how to shoot when they know you're likely to do it, she decides in an instant who to shoot and how and where. Charges to the nearest tower, screams frantic up the stairs, she feels like she's alone despite those who trail behind her, casting smoke screens fog and well placed words in the paths of her pursuers. And ultimately, arrives where she thought she needed to be, discovers, as usual, that it may have been the other side of the planet for all the significance the place actually has; rather, looks to the sky like a cosmic lightning rod, a superconductor of sheer heated human emotion, understands at once the depth of her betrayal, and when transcendence comes, that blast of sheer electricity that blasts her by way of the metal pistol in her hand, she realizes all at once the same things she always knew, the joy beside the pain, the power in the peace, and as humility settles in, she stumbles.

And then stands up again. It's been a long hard night, but at least it's beautiful out here.