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The Rebirth of Catastrophe

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So much of what she's known crashes through the window with her, and her mission along with all of that when she lands on the roof of a car; she survives, but she's not sure what that means or who she is now.

A love - a world - on fire - the same as that which she'd known she needed to avenge before she'd put a foot on the ground again - now naught but rubble under her feet and photographs on an inactive Facebook...a song (a performance) in ice as if frozen in time, even though its depiction is the path she's paving to the future...a half-used purple lipstick, a crimson hair dye box in the trash, a ballad on repeat on a lost iPhone, a bandaid over an exit wound, a gun she'd been taught to fire by the lover against whom she's had to use it, a smile in the face of treachery; she's not just a scorned lover, scorned woman, fiery rival, no - not half a team, no, but a commander...

She'd been foolish and fearless and reckless and a dazzling but hated voice in the darkness, but now...now, she was a catastrophe - a catastrophe now proven capable of defining the world by setting it alight, with a voice that echoes like the sun shines and glittering dresses sempiternally reflecting its radiance...of being the Catastrophe.