We stood out of the way. But her arm extended through the crowd, blood dripping off her small hand. 

The blood was an actor that day. 

We joked we wanted to be the blood for Halloween. 

The blood covered her head, R’s hand, S’s jacket. 

The blood told us not to forget about danger! The blood told us to go the fuck to bed. 

That weekend we barely slept. And everything I did felt like some sort of dream. 

I woke up depressed that morning and L rubbed my back like a mother bird. 

I looked in my closet and got dressed, and we danced and decided life’s too short not to go, just go and maybe you’ll feel better. 

But by the end of the night people were crying and the bloody hand was hurled into a cab. 

It’s hard to know if something is really, very serious. But I ask J and usually J knows and she says it's fine until we all decide it's best to head home.