SwordStitcher-I was rather convinced that she would drag herself upstairs and kill me in my sleep. You were an adorable child. I WAS NOT. I have never been adorable. I never will be adorable. I AM THE MASTER OF FEAR! Until I steal your clothes.Is that my shirt? Now it's mine.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-I didn't need the reminder. God, she was furious...I was convinced she'd lock me in my room to starve. She tried. This is true. You should've left her there. And had her crawl upstairs with the aid of that rusty scythe? She would have. You know she would. Thumpity-thud-thud...Jonaathaan... DON'T.
He lies in the sun, stretched out and tossed aside like an old scarecrow. The bruises are fading, but there'll be new ones. There always are.
He's drifting now, lulled to sleep by the hot Georgia sun. Above him, Granny's rotting scarecrow stands as a silent guardian. He hates it-it always seems to be watching him-but he keeps coming back here because Granny never looks here and neither do his classmates.
He dreams. He dreams off far-off cities with their bright lights and grand libraries, of magic carpets and of freedom, freedom from the old hag up at the house and of freedom from the teenage devils.
And maybe, just maybe, of freedom from the 'pious' old women that shoot him dirty looks and accidentally knock him against the table with their oversized handbags.
Then his dreams become nonsensical as he falls further into sleep. A flying ninja, a clown…must be too much sun.
He makes no move to get up and above him, the scarecrow smiles.
THE END