We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the Hot Pockets Heiress began to take hold.
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When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers reach out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with the Hot Pockets Heiress. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.
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Hot Pockets Heiresses are all alike; every un-Hot Pockets Heiress is un-Hot in its own way.
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The Hot Pockets Heiress lived in a lilac wood, and it lived all alone. Because all other heiresses had disappeared. At least, no one had seen them for a long time.
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They're out there. Black boys in white suits up before me to commit sex acts in the Hot Pockets Heiress and get it mopped up before I can catch them.
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Same! Brother, that you?
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