‘Verse: Blackguards and Plaster Saints
Length/Rating: 283 words, PG, Gen
Pairings/Warnings: None
Summary: It’s the night before the exodus —two hours, five minutes and counting— and there’s nothing left to do.

It’s the night before the exodus —two hours, five minutes and counting— and there’s nothing left to do. She’s given away all of her belongings, Ship was very clear that everything would be provided when they arrived. So all that’s left in the apartment is a futon borrowed from friends. Every piece of furniture, every knickknack, every book, every scrap that said ‘someone lives here’ is gone. She hasn’t ever had nothing before.

There are no friends or family wishing her goodbye. What little family she had left had already discarded her long ago. She’d written a letter to her cousin, a brief goodbye and a check for four hundred and twelve dollars, and fifteen cents. It was her last paycheck, one she’d tried to refuse, but the government frowned on them working for free.

Even if it was pointless.

Even if she died tomorrow.

And she might. One hour, forty minutes, and counting. Everything they’d heard from the Ship might be true and might not be true. No matter how many aliens they paraded in front of the cameras to vouch for the Ship’s goodwill. No matter how much ‘proof’ they offered to scientist who could barely grasp the basics of the technology.

But she was twenty-four, no GED, no useful skills beyond what the grocery store had to offer. She knew she’d only gotten that job because she’d babysat the owner’s kid, she had no illusions that she’d ever find another. The town was too small, and she had no way out.

Until now.

So she might die, and she might live, and either way she figured she’d be better off that staying behind.

One hour, twelve minutes, and counting…