February 8th, 2005

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Work in Progress

But these are things I am not supposed to tell. Mother forbids. I am supposed to wear my proud face and pretend to be like every other child with a parent lost to accident or environmental malfunction or unhappy chance.

I know better. When Daddy whispers to me through his shattered teeth, he tells me better.

"Today we will be having a pop quiz on the five quarters of the world," says Mr. Grieve. He has been teaching children so long some grandpas sat in Mr. Grieve's circle. I sometimes imagine Mr. Grieve looks like Daddy might have if my father had lived on and on forever.

We grumble, because that's what kids do, and get out our tablets and swipe them with antistatic cloth in case of cheating or poor hygiene. Both are wrong, of course, but cheating doesn't kill.
  • Current Music
    Some random punk thing on the coffee house radio