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As Annie's mind drops as far as it can conceive, down the
dark hole of her own lack of knowledge about her own and Justin's families'
past, an unfocused image of someone Chinesemale or female she cannot see, an
older person, to judge from the posture and shuffling step; likely a male now,
to judge from the shoulders and slight baldness, wearing a green gownflits past
her consciousness like a resurfacing memory of something she never knew to begin
with. .
She cannot flesh it out into focus so instead she begins
trying to name the trees that surround her, to keep her mind off that hole and
its darkness, and she cannot remember the names of the trees either. Her eyes
fill with tears and, just for a brief second, overflow. The birdsong is
deafening.
Justin heads north on the winding road, taking the curves too
fast, hearing himself saying out loud to the empty cab, "Christ," again and
again, and then "Crap," and then "Christ," and then silence.
From Ursula, Under by Ingrid Hill. Copyright Ingrid Hill 2004. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced without written permission from the publisher.
Children are not the people of tomorrow, but people today.
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