“Trans… late… com… plete.”
She blinks. Then, impossibly, she smiles. “You’re trying to say I translate the whole. Or maybe… you make me whole. ” warm bodies mtrjm kaml
Before her, my vocabulary was small. Hungry. Cold. Grr. Argh. Lights out. “Trans… late… com… plete
I see her sleeping on the floor of the 747. The broken windows frame a moon that looks almost fake, like a prop left over from the old world. Her hand is open. I touch her palm with one finger. Not to eat. To feel. warm bodies mtrjm kaml
She stirs. Her eyes find mine. Most things look at me and see a corpse. She looks at me and sees a question mark with a pulse.