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Bina: Get up. We know you're awake.

No she isn't! She is asleep.

Really. Really asleep.

Zzzzz… see? Sleeping.

Why does EVERYTHING huuuurt?

It's so cold….

She hears someone moving nearby, a rustle of fabric, and her right arm is jerked awkwardly a few times. It feels like it's caught in something. She'd shake it loose but that would involve effort. She's not a fan of effort right this moment. Lying still seems like the best plan.

OK. Look. Up you get. Here we go. He must have hit you really hard. The bastard.

I don't think you're bleeding, but I can't be sure. God, you've got a lot of hair.

The person talking to her sounds funny. Her words are all tight.

She didn't get hit on the head did she? She tries to touch her head but she's lying on her left arm and her right arm just jerks when she tries to move it. She wiggles her hand but it doesn't come loose. Ngggh…

She feels hands grab her around her middle. She tries to tell whoever it is to stop, to leave her alone, but all that comes out is a squeaky groan.

It's ok. You're going to be fine.

She feels herself being awkwardly pulled into a sitting position.

The wall behind her is rough, she ca-

Her head hits something hard, and in the mysterious way that bodies work, she gags, almost vomiting from the pain. Everything fades for a few seconds as she chokes back bile and the incongruous taste of citrus.

Well at least she's not asleep any more.

As though from a long distance away she hears whoever it is apologizing. A hand pats at her face, smooths her hair.

Whatever she is sitting on is freezing. Her side and arm are numb with cold. There is something wrong about that, about the cold. Something not right. Whatever it is, it skips, effortless, away from her clumsy thoughts. It's like when you're a kid and you're playing in the back yard and you have two sticks and you try to pick up a pebble with them and it keeps sliding away and you chase it but you can't catch it because you just have sticks and you're a little kid and its hard.

That was not a good metaphor.


Whatever. Her brain not work good right now! OK?

Sorry! Sorry about that! Are you ok? Come on kid. Don't be dying. Please don't be dying.

Try and get up.

Bina rallies and tries, once again, to open her eyes. Squinting.

A worried face she doesn't know stares back at her. Is she sick? Where is she? This isn't a hospital.

So bright! Ow… more ow…

There you are. Are you ok? Do you understand me?

It's probably that traffic cop.

Traffic? Why is she thinking traff -

> Explode

Oh no. Errr….

I repeat: Urge to pee becomes unbearable.

Bina realizes that, on top of everything else, and in many ways AHEAD of everything else, she really, really, REALLY has to pee. Like. Immediately. Right now.