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May. 10th, 2015 08:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
that_cost"Don't you want to know?" Thee girl asking this is pale, recovering from some serious ailment or another. "Don't you want to know what happened after we took your car and left here?"
The man she speaks to is old, sitting by a stove and whittling. He looks up at the girl, smiling warmly as he speaks. "Figure you'll tell me when you're ready."
The girl is tense, unsmiling. Afraid. "Aren't you afraid of me?"
"Should I be?"
"Aren't you afraid I'll burn you up?"
"No, button. I don't think so. Let me tell you something. You're no little girl anymore. Maybe you ain't a big girl - you're some place in the middle - but you're big enough. A kid your age - any kid - could get hold of matches if she wanted to, burn up the house or whatever. But not many do. Why would they want to? Why should you want to? A kid your age should be able to be trusted with a jackknife or a pack of matches, if they're halfway bright. So, no. I ain't scared."
The girl relaxes, the look of relief on her face almost euphoric.
"I'll tell you," she says then. "I'll tell you everything."
(memory switch)
She's awakened by the sound of voices a few days later. She's not as pale or sickly, but still looking underfed. The voices, one belonging to the man from the previous memory and an older womans voice, they're arguing. About her. Should she stay? She can't stay. Kids need to get out. She did get out, she went sapping trees. But she could have been seen, Irv! She wasn't, but it could have happened. We'll make a decision later, for now she needs us.
But the girl is visibly weighed down by that and so much more and she cries herself to sleep.
A few days later, she's up well before the sun. The house is quiet. They'd spoken about newspapers one day and an idea had formed in the little girls head. But there was something she had to do first. She had to leave.
Grabbing a scrap of paper, she writes a simple message. I think I know what to do now. Love, Charlie.
With that and with a heavy heart, the little girl leaves the safety of the farm and is once again on her own.
The man she speaks to is old, sitting by a stove and whittling. He looks up at the girl, smiling warmly as he speaks. "Figure you'll tell me when you're ready."
The girl is tense, unsmiling. Afraid. "Aren't you afraid of me?"
"Should I be?"
"Aren't you afraid I'll burn you up?"
"No, button. I don't think so. Let me tell you something. You're no little girl anymore. Maybe you ain't a big girl - you're some place in the middle - but you're big enough. A kid your age - any kid - could get hold of matches if she wanted to, burn up the house or whatever. But not many do. Why would they want to? Why should you want to? A kid your age should be able to be trusted with a jackknife or a pack of matches, if they're halfway bright. So, no. I ain't scared."
The girl relaxes, the look of relief on her face almost euphoric.
"I'll tell you," she says then. "I'll tell you everything."
(memory switch)
She's awakened by the sound of voices a few days later. She's not as pale or sickly, but still looking underfed. The voices, one belonging to the man from the previous memory and an older womans voice, they're arguing. About her. Should she stay? She can't stay. Kids need to get out. She did get out, she went sapping trees. But she could have been seen, Irv! She wasn't, but it could have happened. We'll make a decision later, for now she needs us.
But the girl is visibly weighed down by that and so much more and she cries herself to sleep.
A few days later, she's up well before the sun. The house is quiet. They'd spoken about newspapers one day and an idea had formed in the little girls head. But there was something she had to do first. She had to leave.
Grabbing a scrap of paper, she writes a simple message. I think I know what to do now. Love, Charlie.
With that and with a heavy heart, the little girl leaves the safety of the farm and is once again on her own.
