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Burnt Polaroid Film

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There’s a lot of defining characteristics for Them, Chloe supposes.

One in blue feathers and dancing incense smoke round a dragon tattoo. Airy laughs and party lights reflected in bright, wide pupils ringed in hazel halos. The smell of sage and something distinctly more earthy and ethereal.

One in camera flashes and Polaroid film, hoodies and books chaos theory. Comic books and petrichor in the deep of autumn. The sweet smell of honeysuckles under the sun and the feeling of wind in your hair and filling your lungs with flowers.

Chloe however was harsh lines and sharpies. Tattoo skulls and burnt out cigarettes in a rusted out truck. A bullet amulet for each near death shes been saved from. Each timeline shes been told off tearfully by a scared doe eyed best friend sometimes covered in Chloe’s own blood. A bitter song in the rain.

That’s why shes chosen to end this cycle of saving her when the universe seems determined she suffers. Hanging her amulet as thanks to her own deities on her rear view mirror, note tucked in the sun visor, parked in the junkyard.

Time to enter the half pipe in the sky, one way trip on the midnight express out of here.