My fourth foray into the Friday Fictioneers!
I am having entirely too much fun with this whole thing, hah. (And you will, too, so go check out the other responses if you’ve not already!)
The rust is beautiful, the leather jacket torn, and her teeth bonewhite behind the red of the lipstick she still wears.
She supposes it is silly to bother with makeup, anymore. Or, for that matter, with the headlights on the motorcycle.
The world is gone; who besides her is left to see?
But she thinks the world is pretty as it dies, and if she is the only one left to bear witness, she feels that she should.
Something shouldn’t be wasted, after all.
And if the world is pretty as it dies, she may as well match.