Metafire

But on her way home that evening, the humanity was wrenched out of Erisa. She was driving by a Ramada Inn when she saw a whole family jump from a window. It was too much. She jumped out of her car and ran over to the crumpled bodies. A couple her age and two small children, maybe one and three. She watched the last twitches but just stood back. While the economic collapse was not affecting her job, it was leaving others hopeless. They still did not know who was bombing. The abrogation of debts and the breakdown of commerce had left a depression in its wake. A man was standing next to her.

"I think I might be next," he said. Several people were now running to the bodies who seemed to know what they were doing.

Erisa looked at the guy sharply. He was in his mid twenties, dressed down, but handsome and obviously intelligent. Black hair. Dark, intense, eyes. But more devilish, than wise like Peter's. He wasn't smiling. Then, she said quietly, "Worry is a waste of imagination."

"Huh?"

"Oh, that's just a saying."

"Yea, I guess that guy had nothing to be imaginative about."