Her once-blond hair was matted and filthy with dirt and blood and probably hadn't felt the comforting tug of a brush in decades. She had once been young--so young. Something broke inside of me. I put the gun away and asked her for her name.
"Susan," she said slowly, after a long pause. "I think it was Susan."
I was surprised into silence, and had no reply. She had referred to herself in the past tense. I had never heard one of her kind do that before.
"What's your name?"
I did something I rarely do. I told her my first name. "Paul," I said.
"Oh..." she began, and paused again. Then: "Like the one from the Bible."
"Yes."
"I remember going to Sunday school a long time ago."
"So do I." I said it without thinking.
This one isn't very long, but my aim when I started this was to have a kind of outlet to write quick, interconnected scenes that slowly built into a larger story. I'm going to do my best to fill in some backstory pretty soon.
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