They fled into the night, Dala laughing hysterically and Hasari gritting his teeth. He’d scraped his face in the rush to get out the window, and Dala had nearly been shot by a guard, but she kept laughing, laughing, as if they had never done anything so amusing. They could both have been killed, and for what?
The city streets flew by, dark and too familiar. Just the sight of them made him tired. “Stop. STOP!” He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her into an alley.
“We can’t keep doing this, Dala. We –” he ran out of words. “We just can’t.”
“What do you mean? Of course we can!” There was a feverish shine on her face, a fretful energy that was afraid to rest.
“What do I mean? I mean it’s only blind luck that we’re not dead yet!” Her carefree nonchalance had stopped being convincing a long time ago. It had been real once, and he’d loved her for it. These days it had a manic edge, a desperation for the girl who’d existed before the Fall to still be there. It had taken him a long time to recognize: she couldn’t stop. She would keep looking for trouble until it consumed her.
He had nothing left.
“We should go back.” A rough village in the middle of nowhere, a life in hiding. It no longer seemed like the worst thing that could happen.
She reared back sharply, incredulous. “They told us not to leave.”
“And they were right.” The words fell between them like lead. She was staring at him with a blank look on her face, like he was speaking a language she didn’t understand. He looked away. “I’m going back.” He didn’t have to ask. She wasn’t coming with him. He looked back at her face for a long moment, memorizing.
“Goodbye, Dala.” He dropped the words over his shoulder and left her, standing in the alley and staring after him.
Welcome to this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge! This week called for 33 to 333 words using the third definition of the word BLIND (adj.):