free association
Evey learned to free-associate in primary school. A dry record playing in the afternoon-drenched restlessness, words like important and goals and chancellor rattling like a string of beads. A classroom of ink-splotched hands scribbling furiously, barely legible in effort to keep up. Writing anything, no time to think:
mum dad/family together/scary ol--
The only time they hadn't been told what to write; men in black collected their papers, their teacher's face paper-white.
Now V is above her, in her, world climaxing, gasping her name like a secret in staccato. And losing everything, no time to pretend:
Yes, Evey cries— yours/yours/yours.