she speeds through the  desert on her beat-up bike.

she doesn't know where she's going.

just away, away, away from *there*.

never never never close your eyes

never never sleep

because she lives it through when she sleeps.

*blood blood blood blood splattering the ground too much blood*

she just went out for a supply run

*why why why*

-

she is beginning to run out of food.

she needs to think about the future

they didn't die for you to starve in the desert

the Suitehearts are her best solution

but it's been months, babe, anything could have happened

no no no the Suitehearts will never die

besides, there is no where else to go

the decaydancers - hurricane, crybaby and the pilots- are nomadic

the secret lovers are probably dead by now

the revolutionaries are who-knows-where deep in the city

yes, the suitehearts.

-

she sees the suiteheart's place in the distance

it hurts her, for there are surely alive and well (laughing, loving) families inside

it hurts her to remember

them

no no no she will not dwell on them

-

there is no noise.

too silent

(everything is fine

obviously there must be a reason

but it isn't looking good

no, no, not at all)

-

there is a drum set in the front yard.

it is charred, blackened, burnt.

it is the work of agents love and jackson.

(she spits blood at the thought that they were once her idols-
symbols of those forsaken vixens.)

and she knows

everyone is dead.

-

the floor is covered with ashes and dust and sand.

she quietly trods in.

-

she finds a dusty suitcase in the back room

it is locked with an ancient number lock.

she tries two-thousand twelve.

no luck.

she is frantic, searching any number she can think of.

her groans echo off the creaky walls.

-

two-thousand and one?

click.

-

she rifles through the treasure trove.

there is a note in sandman's all-caps handwriting.

no, no,
wherever i go, go,
trouble seems to follow.
i only plugged in to
save rock and roll.

another, in one of the sinners' messy handwriting:

sit tight, i'm gonna need you to keep time
c'mon, just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me

guitar chords and keyboard notes are scattered over the lyrics.

she finds one in his handwriting.

(how did it get there?)

she reads it over once or twice.

she smiles and embarks on a hunt for the nearest keyboard.

-

the keys are cracked,

the paint is chipped,

but the keyboard is still beautiful.

she flattens out the note, careful not to tear the fragile piece of paper.

she presses a note to make sure the keyboard is still working.

(for now, nothing else matters.)

she clears her throat and begins, in a unsteady, wobbling voice roughened by the desert sand.

so this could be the last of all the rides we take:
hold on tight and don't look back.