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she never realized.

not until she found herself by the edges of a road; stood and screamed at the dirt under fingernails and wide, unseeing eyes. not until she glimpsed torn cloth revealing cold skin and stumbled backwards, scraping her hands on the pavement

[but she's over there. how can her hands be over here when they're over there and clutching at themselves and how - why - ]

and feeling her breath come in gasps.

life doesn't wait for her to recover - it walks on, a slow, unstoppable creature. she watches the frying-pan feet crush the ground beneath them; sees the concrete giving like too-diluted cookie dough.

she makes no move to scramble out of the way - or to drag herself out of the brush and into the wilderness that encroaches on the roadside. instead, she sits in life's shadow and watches.
and waits.