Title: Maybe
Author: Jane, the Frog on the Wall
Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a girl, and all she owned was some Canadian change and a paperclip. Don't sue her, please. I don't in any way advocate suicide, murder, Nevada, Satanic cults, garden-variety cults, not obeying posted traffic law, or Ben's death. I do, however, advocate Krit and Zane in the back of a pickup truck. Evil!Krit got to me, Pooh_Bah. :)
Summary: Jondy's bored. She goes fast.
Archive: Please ask.
Notes: This is a short fic I wrote, on no beta and very little sleep. Please excuse any perforation, punctuation, sanitation, and perspiration errors you might find.

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She's fast. Going fast, wind slicking her hair against her skull, drying her eyes and pushing bugs into her teeth. Just the way she likes it. Fast the wrong way down a one-way street, lights off after the rain with no helmet. 'Cause she feels alive that way.

Nothing matters, not really. Her job is boring, her friends are boring, the weather's boring, Nevada's a fucking hole, and she hasn't seen Zack in months. She could kill something. She's found that entertaining, since she met Syl in Denver and they decided to waste some ammo.

She went on a road trip once, found Krit and Zane going at it in a pickup bed near Saskatoon. That was interesting.

She could join a cult, maybe. She's heard they're interesting, some of the Satanic ones. Or maybe one of those apocalyptic cults, where they all kill themselves before the aliens come and destroy the earth. That could be funny, if not productive.

No. She pulls up beside some guy who obviously surfs, blonde and chiseled and stupid, just like the romance novels the nurses used to read when they thought they were too young to notice. She taps him on the shoulder, looks him in the eye. "Tag," she says, deadly serious. "You're 'it.' "

He doesn't chase her. She sighs a little, but isn't really that disappointed. Only Ben ever chased her. They played tag once, at rush hour in San Francisco. That was before Zack ruined everything and told her to go to Nevada. They chased each other for six hours, until she ran out of gas and flipped her baby. She came thisclose to not having it operational when the time came to get the fuck out.

Ben was entertaining. Ben's dead.

She could be dead, too. She could kill herself. That'd be a challenge. But what if being dead was boring? Suicide only works once, you know.

She pulls out the handgun she lifted last week and shoots Dumbo, the blondie who wouldn't chase her. Killing things isn't exciting anymore. She could kill more things, but she knows it won't be exciting. Killing people only works sixteen times, you know.

She doesn't really feel like going on a road trip, 'cause Zane's being going after Zack lately, and Krit's getting jealous.

Maybe she'll drive somebody crazy. She saw a movie about that, once. Some guy put grapes all over some other guy's apartment, and he lost it. She could buy grapes.

Of course, suicide is still an option. She's still going the wrong way down that one-way street. Maybe she'll slide on that oilstain up ahead and lose control of the bike. Maybe she'll crack her head against that concrete fence that surrounds the police precinct. Maybe she'll die slowly, watching people watch her brains ooze away.

Maybe.