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Diana's Tale Chapter 4I took refuge in my room, not so much to escape my moms lecture, but rather what had happened at the river. Was Claire right? Was I not human? A thousand questions raced through my head, none of them answered. I could ignore what had happened in the woods, as well as my sudden fear of water, as some kind of fantasy of an overstressed mind. But not that noise. No human should be able to make a sound like that. It was wild, animal, a sound of pure dominance - that no weak ape could make. Whoa. Where did that thought come from? I got up and paced the room nervously. The feeling of otherness was getting stronger, and I wasnt sure how long I could keep it a secret.
This is so not good.
My head went round and round in circles, scrambling for some reasonable explanation, but getting nowhere. I glanced at t
Diana's Tale Chp 3Ok, that was closer, lets try again, Im sure youll get it this time.
You said that last time, and the time before that, and the time before that! I said, exasperated. I sat down with a thud and looked up at Claire, Lets just face it, were not getting anywhere.
For the past hour, Claire and I had been trying to override my sudden fear of the water. Claire had taken my news very well, and had immediately begun thinking up ways to figure out what was wrong with me.
Well, whats keeping you from going in? Claire asked.
I dont know. Fear, I think. I mean, I'm fine going up, and up to a certain point I can rationalize the fear away, but once I decide to actually go in, panic overtakes me and I freeze.
I sighed and looked out over the water. We were sitting on the rock I had jumped off earlier. It was stra
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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