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The mire girl lays in the white chipped alcove porcelain bathtub washing soaking away the orderly's blood crusts and recent splotches of street sauce from her arms and legs and feet and face. The water stings hot and soothes on her pale snow skin. Her thin nude body is pink as if she's becoming softly boiled; preparing herself for the city's contingent meal. It hurts good. Her eyes tilt watch the hazy cataract mirror above the sink and she reminisces the word  "memory" and the recollection of waking drowning in the mire.

Her feet are sore and feel bruised as she's been barefoot for most of her recent existence. The steaming hot bath is a utopia of relief for her barking dogs. This's happiness and contentment and the retreat from the outside world her obscure Cartesian dualism seems to need. The physical lustration has her cogitating, though she'd like to drift off into immediate sleep. But she can't. For Jane, sleep is like a caesura set in stone. Her sleep is death.

It's not morning yet. The anticipation is a draining feeling, wanting to sleep, being so tired but at the same time, wide awake. She's unable to become unconscious. Unable to drift off ever again. All she can do is thud to the floor in a cloud of husk dust like a corpse.

Is she Emil Cioran going for a walk in the darkly dead of night through what's left of her mind, wondering if death always comes too late? She's not in control of this part of herself but she wonders if she was ever in control of her body. All humans die. The mind can't control the mind's death. Humans need to eat and shit among other bodily things; the mind can choose "when" to eat and shit like a countdown but it must eventually choose. The bipedal aren't in control of what the body does on its own without the mind. So, is having to be completely unconscious during the day that much different from the physical shortcomings of a vanilla human? No. Jane's limitations are just a touch different from everyone else. Her body is only somewhat more scheduled and definitive.

She thinks to herself in the way a crucified memorial statue witnesses the world. Her chiseled eyes watch epistemology through a tunnel of distance and will never notice the canterbury font eulogy carved below her feet. The neck of her memory won't budge.

Definitive...definitive as the blip of existence surrounded by an infinite nothing.

As she soaks, she thinks about the conversation after the blurring lips and unintelligible name.

Who is the guy who lost his mind because I died? Apparently he loved me and I loved him and then...well, Rist said we were both happy and really beginning to become something special. Then I had to save my friends and in the process, die. And that was that. I don't blame him for hating me. But was I really that hard to get over? I don't think I look like much...I wonder what he saw in me to end up destroying himself because he lost me? The whole situation sounds beyond sad...as if he were Sisyphus rolling my memory up hill for eternity and being happy to hate me for it.'

Jane tries to focus on the other nightmares Rhie was talking about and they're just that. Nightmares of horrific massacres perpetrated against wanderers in the northern periphery of the city. There's a blackened dead forest with rotting corpses nailed to the long arm spear tree trunks and the bigger branches throughout the ominously gruesome flora, which Jane already knew about.

What she doesn't know is what lies beyond that unnatural place. It's where Rhie considers Hell on earth, as if the desolate city isn't a type of Tophet already. There's an old slaughter house in the beyond, where people who survive the dark forest are taken to be tortured or whatever else the inhabitants have in mind. Hooks and cleavers and bone saws and racks of torsos that facilitate the cannibalism among the savage others. Rist and Rhie's group, the Ghosts, have lost some of their members in that unfortunate place while trying to rescue people, according to their leader and upper echelon people. Masks have been found upon unrecognizably butchered faces. Skeletons have been witnessed like giant swordfish tied to skiffs caught only to be hit and torn apart in the nighttime jaws of roaming sharks.

Rist and Rhie are terrified this group of monsters will one day try to inhabit a part of the city closer to the remaining population. Then it will be war, again.

Jane thinks maybe she was brought back somehow to stop these butchers and she also thinks this way of thinking about herself is truly narcissistic. It's like a horrible fairy tale.

I lost my life so that my friends could live. I'm fine with that. I'm not so full of myself to pretend that I'm the "chosen one," or some kind of superhero able to flex my ego and fix everything in the here and now. Though, if I were them, I would burn that forest to the ground. It should be set on fire. They must have thought this already and decided not to light it up because they don't want the barrier that it naturally provides to be destroyed; though it doesn't sound like much of a barrier. It's more like a woodland trophy lodge for murderers. That's what I would do. Flush them out and stop taking a defensive position. Throw everyone who can fight at the slaughter house and raise it, every single remnant. Every perpetrator. Wipe them out because it already sounds like they're at war. But Rist and Rhie don't seem to want to accept this fact.

Jane looks down at her underwater body and rubs one of her bubble dripping feet. Her tootsies look fine, no bruises or cuts. She heals fast.

They did say that they've lost people while trying to rescue other people; another reason not to go all in on killing all the butchers. People are going to die anyway, though. And how long will this horror be drawn out if no one does anything to actually put all the butchers down? And what advantages and weapons does the enemy possess? What are their numbers? Maybe not many since they haven't attacked the city, only stragglers, which I find interesting. Why not? How long will this go on for as they build enough confidence to begin an invasion? My thoughts are certainly scorched earth and it doesn't sound like the Ghosts have had any success doing things their way so far. Yeah, that's what I'd do. Burn it all down. Kill them all. Great plan, Jane. It's so good that you'll get everyone you're trying to save, killed. And you don't really know what's out there. And here we are. This is why I sacrificed myself before, it must be. I can't go scorched earth, I must do it alone. I don't seem to be able to escape myself in this, even with a sanitized memory.

Jane looks at her hands now. Thin little perfect twigs pruning in the water. No blemishes or cuts or scars. Her hands should not look this good. Neither should her feet. She likes the look and feel of her feet and her hands and admires both sets. Jane considers them to be her best physically feminine attributes. The rest of her feels too skinny but she doesn't know how to rectify this. She doesn't eat and drinking blood scares her in a moral way and she can't witness herself in a mirror anyway.

I don't really want to have blood again but I don't want to die again but maybe I won't, since I kind of don't seem to be able to except for that dreadful moment at sunrise. But who knows what horrors my body has in store for me. What pain. I must have a weakness that can permanently kill me, something that can put me in the ground for good. And what reason do I have for living? What right do I have to this life since I've already lived and died by my own will? Or so I've been told. Oh man, if anyone can do this kind of mission to prevent an all out war, it's me. Am I a narcissist for thinking this or am I a pragmatist? Well, pragmatists are narcissists in a way...so if the shoe fits. At least I'll get to save my friends again. Maybe someone can read some William James at my second funeral. Or not.

She continues to think in this manner while running a luffa up and down her legs. She clasps a foot file and begins to sand wet callous from her heals but stops when she realizes that there're no callous to file.

If I'm going to take matters into my own hands, Rist's going to have to put me in a dress like she wanted and sooner rather than later. I won't take that away from her or myself. I think I need it. I need to feel like a woman instead of this dead body that happens to be a rail skinny teenager.

There's a knock on the door and Rist comes in. Jane doesn't care about her pink skin nudity in this moment, she's too inebriated by her own thoughts. And the mire girl is comfortable with the skull mask lady witnessing her bare bones. Rist kneels at the side of the alcove tub and stares at Jane's face for a long overcast eye moment.

Jane side eyes Rist like the dusk trying to watch the dawn and she raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just kinda in awe that I'm even looking at your rosy cheeks. I never imagined this would happen, my long lost best friend soaking in my tub."

Jane holds her watch upon Rist's eyesight. So leaden and beautiful. She sighs at their wonder and how they relate to herself. Thinking of how she can see through the night like a daylight hole cutting through the early hour's murky existence and that Rist's eyes are bound to the darkness itself. In this moment she wishes she hadn't died so she would have aged along side Rist. She can't begin to imagine all that she's lost, all of the time they'll never get back. A contingency lost to the void of nonexistence. Jane dunks her head and gets out of her own mind to talk to Rist.

"I've been thinking. It was my choice to risk death the last time. Maybe that's what I'm supposed to be, a weapon that saves my friends. Maybe I'm supposed to fight my way toward my destiny."

"You're talking about the slaughter house?"

"Maybe, I don't know. It's just a feeling, like I'm not meant to be here for very long and I never was."

"Bullshit, Jane. I love you and I won't let you go without a fight. I'm not leaving your side this time."

And there it is. The foil in Jane's plan. The plan that she doesn't think Rhie will be against, but Rist certainly will. She'll follow her into the forest no matter what. Rist will go through the gates of Hell with her. She'll die and it will be Jane's fault. Now she's apprehensive about telling Rist her plan. Jane loves Rist and won't take her to her death.

Then again, maybe Jane isn't giving Rist enough credit. She's fast. Jane saw her jump from the train with no problem. Maybe she can handle herself just as Jane can. Maybe she should trust her friend and in doing so, be her friend in return. Jane decides that she needs to tell Rist her plan. She values Rist's opinion.

"Have you guys tried burning down the dark forest?"

"Nope. It's a really big forest and it keeps those things on the other side. It's nice and thick!"

"But they literally nail people to those trees. Don't you think that the forest is a hideout for them? Don't you know that it's a good place to stage an attack on the city from?"

"It could be, but..."

Jane cuts her off with the volume of her words coupled by the folding of her arms.

"It's not a good barrier! It's a weakness that they will eventually exploit to their advantage!"

Jane moves her folded arms to the side of the tub and rests her chin on her pink wet shiny arm flesh. She makes strict eye contact with Rist. She remembers this feeling. It's like putting on a war face.

"The forest also seems like something that'll make the locals fear them immensely, if they don't already. If I was in charge, that forest would be turned to ash in a heartbeat. That would send a message to them to fuck off or find out about consequences!"

Rist doesn't look too thrilled with this plan. She seems horrified but also interested in Jane's words.

"What do we do after that? Attack them?"

"Maybe during."

This last comment makes Rist stand up, pace for a few moments with a frown and then look down upon Jane while seemingly playing the brutal scenario in her mind. Jane can see that maybe she's been too forward with her "all or nothing" idea of the situation. Also, Rist is twenty six and Jane's still that of a sixteen year old. Maybe age is an issue for Rist in these matters. Maybe memory is a bigger issue for Rist when it comes to Jane. But Jane still has her instincts and they're screaming at her to act now because it'll be too late very soon. But then again, her instincts belong to her body and her body is blatantly keeping important information from her. Should she really be trusting her instincts?

"I'm just talking, Rist. We don't need to discuss it. If you want me to stay out of this business, I will. I don't want to make waves between us. I just figure, if we're going to be friends, real friends, I have to be honest with you. Why would you guys tell me about the forest and the slaughter house if you don't want me to say something? It's not like that shit is just small talk."

Rist kneels back down and moves close to Jane. She smooths her friends wet hair with her hands. She's close enough to kiss.

"Yeah, you're right. It's not small talk and I think that deep down, I need your opinion on the situation because ten years ago, your opinion was usually right. I guess there's no easy solution to it. It's bad all around."

"There are other options, Rist. I could go alone. By myself. I wouldn't need to burn down the dark forest. I'd go straight for the slaughter house. I'm pretty good at seeing in the dark and I can't die from bullets or heights. I've had to kill."

This is the truth but also a lie. Jane didn't have to kill the orderly and it wasn't her body reacting to being attacked. Jane wanted to kill him for what he did with the scalpel. Unless her body's somehow deceiving her into believing that she wanted to kill him. If so, she can't really trust anything she thinks. Welcome to madness.

"You don't know for sure that you can't die and you would be all alone out there. That won't do, Jane. Look, I know you don't need my permission or anyone else's to do what you think needs to be done. You never did before. But I'm asking you, please, don't go it alone. I can't go through this again and come out of it without you. What I'm saying is I don't want to lose you again. I just got you back, Jane."

Jane finds herself unable to continue debating. Rist wins. Maybe this time around she needs to be here for herself and Rist and no one else. Certainly not for the grandeur that she may end up deluding herself with in the form of a plan to save everyone.

"Alright, Rist. I'm yours. You've got me and I'm not going anywhere. I do have a request, though."

"Sure, what would you like?"

Jane sits up and places the tip of her right pointer finger on her chin. She knowingly makes the worst pout imaginable.

"I'd like to join your Ghost club."