i am enveloped
in a red, allover warmth

left to me, its only chance
a small, furry baby. it is so tiny. i am sharing my warmth with it as i bring it close, close to my chest. so close. we are running.

we are in an office, and women who do not belong there come in. they are big-breasted and big-thighed, and their shorts are too short and tight for wintertime. i ask them to leave. they do not go. and then later, when they are bored of the place, they go.

there is a dungeon that we are in-- others have taken over our home. there is no question of belonging rightfully or not; it is known that whomever occupies the castle must hold hostages.

the firemen are our friends, i tell the newborn i am holding and making my own. we escape from the prison, and find a room in the upper portion of a house. we are traveling through centuries, and in this time i have acquired another orphan, erin. i am teaching her how to survive. we take the things we need-- a few things for memory. and we build our own memories with each other.

in a gift shop, we realize we must again go. firemen and women and policemen and women are having a meeting, and we must go. 'the firemen are our friends,' i tell mishy. we quickly pack a few things from the memories we have made, but the window is too high to get out of. i climb down but cannot get back up to get the children. mishy has to hold the newborn on the stones to keep it from falling. i cry out and suddenly a fireman is there to help: to save the baby, to save mishy, to let us all keep running.