the novel? 2004-10-28T05:32:28Z tag:www.whowantspudding.com,2004://3 Movable Type Copyright (c) 2004, Rob recovery 2004-10-28T05:32:28Z 2004-10-28T05:29:15Z tag:www.whowantspudding.com,2004://3.29 2004-10-28T05:29:15Z For the longest time, all she knew was that she had woken up. Something stirred uneasily in her, as if she knew she had dreamt disturbing dreams in the night, but she could not quite remember them. She moved, her... Rob www.whowantspudding.com robmo91@hotmail.com For the longest time, all she knew was that she had woken up. Something stirred uneasily in her, as if she knew she had dreamt disturbing dreams in the night, but she could not quite remember them. She moved, her limbs leaden, cold. Wet. It was raining, she felt the drops spatter lightly on her skin, began to feel tiny cold rivulets run down through her ears, down the sides of her neck.

There was no sound, and it was dark. She opened her eyes, but saw nothing. Then, the feel of the rain began to blur in her mind towards sound, so that for a moment she was not sure what she was hearing and what she was feeling. Then the light, gray, muted light, creeping in. Soon, over the rain, she heard another sound, sobbing, and she felt the faint weight on her stomach before she felt the weight leave, then find her face, hands caressing her cheek with a trembling urgency.

She moved her lips, but no sound came, and she moved her head to see her mother as she was pulled up into her arms, out of the mud that released her gently. In the air, startlingly new, and the mud beneath her, she knew she was home.

She slept and woke. She dreamt, still waking without memory, but with the same vague uneasiness. Hours, maybe days passed, and she lay there, shades drawn, trying to follow the shadows to their source, often finding nothing. Her eyes traced and retraced the course of reflected light, but every time, it seemed there was a barrier unseen, as if she were trapped in some event horizon, looking at cause and effect, but never seeing where they actually met.

She knew where she was, how could she not, the room she grew up in, back home, Beaumont. She knew her room, and felt home around her, felt the earth, even, more than she could recall. She heard noises downstairs, knew it was her mother. She felt a flash of excitement and fear, familiar but startling, and felt, through the same haze of confusion and certainty, that no, it was not him, he wasn’t home.

She remembered mornings before, hearing the sounds of life below, but not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to face the day. She had spent those mornings in the same shadows, But this, this morning, was different.

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