I hit each step with a punctuation of breath, tumbling head-over-heels until I was sprawled in the kitchen, my skirt draped over my head, my beautiful...California Roll headdress sacrificed to provide cushion for my stupid fucking brain. I lay there for a moment, exposed and in pain, wondering if dying was preferable to getting up from this. A fervent knock on the kitchen door confirmed that yes, dying was indeed the better option. “Emily?!” Mrs. Johnson’s muted voice screamed from the other side. She came to us so severely compromised that I didn't give her a chance, but Miriam refused to give up on her. The fields were engaged that powered the nanites and a huge dose of them was administered, through a feeding tube, through an enema and through access-ways threaded into her aortas. The tissue death in her brain had to be addressed as quickly as possible. We stayed with her, sitting in vigil. By morning the bruising was gone, the fluid was gone from her lungs, her heart had a strong. More

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