v. Last
She's driving on the highway, white dashes flickering through her peripheral vision as she's trying to forget him. Trying to forget that she's leaving him, leaving the one place that she always wanted to work--simply because she feels like an outcast. She's never been one to run from her problems, but she's doing it now. And she's a Republican. Who worked in a Democratic White House. She's a box of oxymorons. She's too dazed to focus on anything right now. A loud horn. The sound of metal collapsing on itself. A white light. And then? Silence. Nothingness. Lingering death.