We’re in a new hidey-hole, and as usual we’ve lost half a dozen things we really need: toothpaste, butter, even coffee. And now half asleep, feeling like I’ve got fur on my teeth, I’m supposed to figure out whether we can take a mother on our team. Someday, when I get my chance, I’m not gonna kill Them. (To be honest, I don’t even know if They die.) It’s going to be torture, and it’s going to be slow.
I see my guardian angel. She is sitting on the curb sucking bad coffee out of a hole in the lid of a paper cup. I am carrying groceries out to my car and there she is. It had been years, but of course I recognize her instantly. Still, she looks different. She hasn’t aged; I don’t know if angels do in fact age—she’ll probably look 18 forever—but she looks the worse for wear. Her eyes are sunk deep in their sockets, and she has dyed her hair black, in stark contrast to the bright, diffused light that wraps around her. She looks unhealthy; her sickly yellow skin belies her natural radiance and is pulled taut around her bones.
Things hadn’t been well for a long time. He could afford to admit it now that it was all over, and he had returned home from the funeral, his mind starved of sleep. No tears, lamentations, or gaunt silences had marked his behavior. None of that or those solid chesty hugs friends give at times [...]
Sarah stood for a moment, listening, and felt a surge of anger and resentment: All the furniture in her old room had been replaced, but she still had the memories that tied her to her father’s house. She was partly here, a guest in the guest bedroom, and partly still thirteen years old and at home.
Source: AFF Doublethink Online | Joseph Hammond
Source: AFF Doublethink Online | Emma Elliott Freire