You are leaving your old life behind today. This morning while you were at work, your sister packed a few lonely undersized bags that contained the entirety of your existence and bought two tickets for the evening six o'clock train. She was waiting for you on the sidewalk with one more bag of your things when you got out, and dropped the words "we're leaving" like a grenade in your lap. You absently wonder when it will explode.
Now that you're thinking of it, it was fairly obvious; she had been on you about saving money for a while, and had started walking instead of spending money on the bus fare. She told you she got busted for making a long-distance personal call to New York when she should have been working. You should have seen this coming, but you still can't believe it's happening so suddenly. You never told your manager you were leaving, you're sure your sister didn't tip off her boss, and you sincerely doubt she paid the rent you owe your landlord.
But the point is moot; you're gone now, and if your sister is as thorough as she is at anything else in her life, you won't be found.
She even got you both some spiffy new papers.
Your name is Rose Lalonde now.
You have a terrible feeling about this.
