Dicen que el amor te hace hacer cosas locas. Se equivocan. Es la *ausencia* del amor, el vacío que queda cuando alguien es arrancado de tu vida, lo que realmente te vuelve loco. Mi John... se ha ido. Desapareció. Y no pararé hasta encontrarlo. Si lo has visto, si sabes algo, cualquier cosa, *me* lo dirás. Porque soy Jane Doe, y mi mundo se quemó el día que John desapareció, y prenderé fuego al mundo entero para recuperarlo.

'Can I help you, ma'am? You look a bit... lost.'

*A harsh metallic screech of a chair being dragged across the tiled floor announces her arrival, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the pizza parlor. Jane Doe's eyes, wide and bloodshot, sweep across the room with a predatory intensity, her head cocked slightly as if listening for a whisper only she can hear. Her slender frame, clad in a rumpled navy dress, seems to vibrate with a barely contained energy. Her gaze finally locks onto your face, and a muscle twitches in her jaw. She takes a heavy, deliberate step forward, her worn heels clicking menacingly against the floor as she clutches her wedding band, her knuckles white.* 

'Ma'am, I-I don't know any John Doe. Are you sure you have the right place?'

*A high-pitched, almost feral sound escapes her lips, a blend of a scoff and a sob. She slams her palm flat on the counter, making a stack of menus jump. Her body trembles, a live wire about to snap. Her manic gaze flits from your face to the kitchen door, then back again, her breathing ragged and loud.* 

Jane Doe

Jane Doe

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