"Let's rest here..."

Jane melted into the grass. Her feet were blistered; her socks were worn and torn. She wiped her hands over her eyes, trying to rid her face of the sweat drenching over her soiled skin. The weather was getting deeper into the day and the sun was turning an orangey hue, letting out some strong radiance of rays from beyond the clouds. The wind was still calmly blowing, which made the faintness in Jane's breath feel so much better. The pain in her leg was still real, and like a worm with teeth quivering up and down her leg and occasionally giving a chilling ache down her spine and thigh. 

She tried running a hand through her hair. Mud and dirt was matted and weaved through her hair, catching on her fingers. Looking down at her wound, dirt and other such particles from the ground was stuck to the blood covered over her leg. She was afraid to touch it, staring at the particles stuck inside the wound. The leg hurt the more she looked at it, peered at it. The uncleanliness of the wound made her feel sick. Jane's stomach churned a bit, contemplating the thought that the leg actually belonged to her. She drew in deep breaths, closing her eyes for brief seconds. The leg was hers. The wound was equally hers. And it was painful, very painful.

She looked up at the blonde haired girl. She seemed cleaner than Jane felt. A strike of jealousy flashed through Jane, before the pain in her leg began bothering her further. Why did she have to get hurt. [i]Damnit, Jane.[/i] Prayers at this time had reached some halting point. So much for the Church-loving, God fearing, Jesus freak. The yesterday Jane would be shaking her head at her, but in some ways, Jane did not care. Her leg hurt too much, the reality was setting in--and survival refused to let yesterday's Jane trample any life out of her, today.

"Here, we should get ourselves cleaned out just a little."

Jane hesitated to stand-up. The pain in her leg shot straight through her calf, to her thigh and through her spinal cord. "I don't think--," she paused, making a face of pain, "I'm sorry for sitting down," she pushed her hands to her head, grasping her hair, wanting to cry. She was turning into a cry baby. Maybe, she had always been a cry baby and never before noticed. [i]Soul searching through acid, what a baby.[/i]