The last few days Wulf was onboard, I clung to him like a pesky fly. I was so needy for a like-minded friend I couldn’t help myself. Buzzing about his head, I picked his brain for any tiny morsel that might help me to survive in this wasteland of dead heads after he was gone.
Besides, the lifers razzed him mercilessly. “You’ll be back,“ they said
mockingly, “to ship over.“
“F___ you!“ He barked back. “Just because you couldn’t make it on the outside doesn’t mean I can’t—ya low-life motherf___ers.“
He would never ship over, and they knew that. They were jealous of him—that he was an individual with an agenda of his own. For they would never see the likes of him again.
While I was happy for him, I felt sad at the same time, for his departure certainly left a big hole in my life. I was hurt, even more, when in his hurriedness to get off the ship, he left without saying a word to me. For I never heard from him again.
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