Blue Monday
#6
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indent She wasn’t afraid of him, only curious. Most children were like that—he had been. Nothing in the world was scary, just peculiar. Of course, he had nightmares of a red eyed monster almost constantly. It had taken him weeks to disassociate that figure from his father, even though this pattern had returned over time. Damian was long dead, though. So was his mother.
indent At the final question, Ahren let out an odd half-laugh, amused in spite of himself. “Too much saltwater,” he offered, something that was not quite a lie. The woman who had styled his hair (a curious hybrid who often spoke of Africa) had done so at sea. It was, as she put it, the only reasonable thing to do. People like them didn’t have time to worry about how they looked. After another drag on the stick, he extended it slightly so she could observe. “This is a cigarette. You put tobacco in the paper and smoke it.” Or other things, if one was so inclined. For the final product, he didn’t even spare it a glance. “A crossbow. I use it for hunting.” Ah the drawbacks of being partially crippled.






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