by Tristan S. Davenport
Contrary to promises made in church, death does not give her the use of her legs back. What it gives her is a keening thirst deeper than anything she felt while living, deeper even than what she felt while dying: sprawled next to her wheelchair, croaking her breath out in a prayer for water. This is what death gives her -- a thirst so great it overcomes for the first time the shame of her infirmity. She picks herself up, crawls arm over elbow into the desert.
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