The Rift
An old lady named Margaret Oliver lay in the middle of the street outside the 3rd line station, clutching her chest. Bullets fired near her had taken out the tires of a nearby truck. The truck had swerved out of control, ran toward her, and finally crashed into the glass casing above the subway terminal.
Now the empty vehicle rested with it's ass end hanging down the concrete edge above the stairs. It had missed the old lady, but it didn't matter. Her heart couldn't handle the scare.
In her last few seconds, she tried to remember her name. Blocking the screams and the sirens out of her mind she tried to think of it, but it wouldn't come.
As the world faded into black, she searched for it with all the strength she had left. But she never quite got it.
Now the empty vehicle rested with it's ass end hanging down the concrete edge above the stairs. It had missed the old lady, but it didn't matter. Her heart couldn't handle the scare.
In her last few seconds, she tried to remember her name. Blocking the screams and the sirens out of her mind she tried to think of it, but it wouldn't come.
As the world faded into black, she searched for it with all the strength she had left. But she never quite got it.