two hundred and eighth night

goddamit, anya. god-fucking-dammit.

she didn't lose her memory. or she didn't lose all of it. she knew how we escaped.

and as she told me, i remembered. i remembered holing up in the kitchen to fight off the birds the mother and child unleashed. i remembered turning on the gas and lighting the fires and then trying to push forward.

we were going to die, i remember. it was inevitable. i could see the diner patrons faces and i know they didn't understand what was going on, but we could see outside. there were maybe fifty birds indoors.

there were a million outside. probably more.

and the storm. as soon as anya described the tempest, i remembered it. lightning struck and...she grabbed my hand and pulled me and i followed her without knowing where i was running and there was a window wreathed in lightning.

this must be how they get here, i thought and suddenly we were back. and i took one look back to see the people in the diner and the window closed and i knew they were all dead and we had just left them and i couldn't take it.

so i guess i repressed that memory. four months between worlds and i didn't remember because i didn't want to remember.

and then she told me.

goddammit, anya.

i don't have time right now for...for whatever she expected of me. forgiveness, maybe. we don't have time to talk. not now.

we have a trap to set.