The Turned – Chapter 12

Svetlana looked down from her perch. It was nearly 15 meters down, and around the base of the huge oak tree, a crowd of the Turned had already gathered, their arms stretched up toward her, groaning in a way that was both devoid of emotion yet full of longing.  Hunger, she decided, the same thing that caused them to pound on the sides of the boxy carriages that she should have been spending the night in.  She’d been so sick of being enclosed in them, wishing she had more fresh air while she slept.

Well, it doesn’t get any fresher than this, she thought to herself.  She’d been following her gut when she had turned around on the road, following that group into the forest.  If she’d have just gone on to Carter’s Hill, she’d have a fairly secure place to sleep at night.  But she also would have lost the trail she was now following, and with what she’d seen, she was certain she’d made the right choice.  Five days of sleeping in the arms of some giant tree or another, always climbing up far enough to guarantee that if she did fall, she’d be dead from the impact before the Turned started eating her.  Fortunately, she didn’t toss and turn in her sleep.

There must have been at least two hundred of them.  One of them was a woman, young when she’d turned, but mostly rotten now, missing an arm and one eye, as well as patches of skin on her face and arms.  Her clothes were patchy and dirty and stained with blood, not all of which could have been her own.  About half of her previously-blond hair was left, stained just as red as her clothes.  Another looked like a child, a boy who could not have been more than 10 when he’d turned.  His skin was almost completely gone, and his hair had been gone for a long time.  He was crowded by the others, almost all of them much taller than he, but he continued to hold his hands up and moan up at her.  She thought she could pick his voice out amongst the others, but subconsciously she knew better.

Every one of them had been a living person at one time, she said.  Everyone was someone’s child, someone’s brother or sister, and many of them were mothers and fathers.  Again she found herself wondering why anyone would continue to bring children into this world.  She found herself wondering about the children that the Order was bringing into the world, and the changes in their teachings, but drove that thought out.  She’d learned as a child that her Order had been around for at least five generations, with the exact same purpose as it did now.  That wouldn’t change, even if the Council wanted it to.  It couldn’t, not with the rank-and-file members all believing the way Svetlana did.  There would be a mass uprising.

Then she heard a voice – she thought she’d imagined it at first, and looked down among the Turned for the source.  When it called the second time, she knew it wasn’t coming from the ground… it was on her level.

“Little spy,” the voice called a third time.  She sat up, gripping the branches near her, and saw someone else, up in a nearby tree, looking right at her.  He was in his twenties, from the look of his face, and he was dressed in grey and blue.  He also had a smirk on his face, as if he’d captured her.

She didn’t speak, just looked back at him.  After a moment, he spoke again.

“You’re following people out here, and my friends and I don’t take kindly to spies.  I wouldn’t say you’re exactly under arrest, but you are going to come with us.”

“Hmmm…” she stared back at him.  “And how is that going to happen?”

He glanced down toward the base of the tree, and she saw three people pushing through the crowd of the Turned.  She hadn’t seen them before, but now they began climbing into the lower branches of the trees.  They all carried flame weapon tanks, but none were lit.   Even so, the swarm didn’t pay them any attention.  Once they’d gotten a few feet above the outstretched arms of the mob, they just sat there, looking up at her with the same sort of smile the first one had.  She looked back across to the other tree.

“Remember, all they really need to do is knock you out of the tree.”  He looked down at the swarm, then back up at her.  “Or, we could light up the flame weapons we brought with us, make a safe spot for you to climb down into, and take you someplace much more comfortable to sleep.”

Svetlana sighed.  No other way out, and he was right- if they pulled her out of the tree, the Turned would make short work of her.

*****

The main gate into Tarense was something Jameson couldn’t have even dreamed of. Overlapping panels of steel sheet made for an unbroken wall around the entire base of the hill, at least 500 linear meters and 8 meters high.  Men and women in bright colored uniforms paced across the bridge over the gate, looking down from time to time.  They had flame weapons nearby, but not in hand.  It was almost noon, and the guards didn’t expect to see the Turned approach for another 8 hours or so.  The approach to the gate was cleared of trees and bushes to make a space 10 or 15 meters wide.  There were two trees allowed to survive near the wall, one on either side of the gate, Marlena had pointed out to him, that served as an emergency entrance.  Since the Turned couldn’t climb them, but the branches were low enough that a living person easily could, someone caught outside the gate would be able to get to safety without needing the gate opened.  The upper parts of the city could be seen from outside, but one inside he could only see the dividing walls between them.  He couldn’t see what was inside, apart from the occasional roof of a tall house or observation deck.

Inside, the city was teeming with people.  Jameson had never seen so many in one place.  His village and five more could fit into the Lower Quarter, with room to spare.  The houses were laid out in a logical grid, with streets formed by the spaces between- sometimes paved with stones, sometimes not.  The homes were modest, but well-built and maintained.  He smiled as they passed a rather large blacksmithing shop, the familiar sound of ringing hammers calling almost like a lover’s voice.  There was a large open area, most likely used for training the city’s defenders, and a large inn close to the gate itself.  That was Regis’s Inn, that he’d been told about.  He followed Marlena as she headed for it, pausing only for a moment before going in.

*****

Svetlana sat on a cushioned chair, looking around her and taking in as much as she could.  The building she was in wasn’t quite a house, but it didn’t seem to have an official purpose, either.  The ceiling was high, made of wood but in a clever way- the joints between wood pieces were visible, but almost perfectly straight, and apparently all of the same width.  The walls were colored a pleasant mixture of white and green, and even the chair she sat in was well-made and comfortable.  The room reminded her very much of the Compound in its level of workmanship, but instead of a grim, hard feeling, the room was uncommonly bright.

There was an open door to other rooms, maybe for cooking and eating, and stairs leading upward.  Even the steps were well-made wood,  looking polished and well-maintained.

The other striking thing was that she was seated within 15 feet of the front door, and there were two large windows- one directly behind her, and one across from her.  The morning sunlight streamed in, leaving few shadows in the room.  The only thing that would keep her from going to the door and disappearing into the city was the young man seated across from her.  He was dressed in well-made clothes, mostly shades of brown, but with some gold thread woven into the collar.  He was watching her with some interest, but not speaking.  She couldn’t guess his thoughts, aside from a bit of amusement at her presence.  He wasn’t so much meant to guard her, she decided, as to make sure she wasn’t alone- that she knew she was being watched.  His eyes were red around the irises- another of the Immune.  In her short time inside Tarense, everyone who had spoken to her had been Immune.  The normal people of the city didn’t seem to take much notice of her or her escorts, but there were a lot of people and they all seemed to have their own business in mind.  The security around her was half-hearted, as if they were daring her to try to escape.  More likely, she thought, they believe I have nowhere to go.  Which was, she had quickly realized, fairly accurate.

She hadn’t been there long when she heard someone descending the stairs.  She turned her head and saw an older man looking back at her as he reached the bottom step.  There he paused for a moment, and a warm smile crossed his lips.  His attention turned toward the man sitting across from her.

“Thank you for bringing her, Oren.”  The hint was taken well enough- the younger man stood, then left through the door without looking back.

She stood, and turned to face the older man, and got a good look at him.  There was little doubt in her mind who he was, which led her mind to a handful of conclusions that made her nervous and afraid for her own life, as well as a little excited.  He was dressed in loose, grey clothes that gathered close at his wrists and ankles.  His skin looked fairly young, but his hair was iron-grey and his eyes had wrinkles around them that came only with time.  He folded his hands, visibly relaxing with the intention of putting her at ease.

“I hope my friends have treated you well,” he said.  His voice was steady, and held genuine concern for her.  “They get nervous when they find people like you, spying on other people we care about.  I had asked them to treat you as a guest of mine.”  He was turning on the charm, trying to win over her confidence if not her trust.  She merely nodded her head in reply.

“Good.  My name is Symon, and I’m fairly sure that if your superiors in the Order found out you were in the same room as I, they would demand that you either kill me or die in the attempt.”

Svetlana kept her face still at the mention of the Order.  It wouldn’t take too much thought to connect her with them, but having it said openly still made her nervous.  She had guessed right about who she had been brought here to meet.  He continued speaking, taking another step toward her.

“When you report back to them, it is up to you what you tell them, of course,” he said, gazing at her, “but if you were to report this encounter, they may not trust you any further.  They would insist that you kill me.”

“What makes you think I won’t kill you?” she asked evenly, hoping to see where the conversation was leading them.  He smiled a bit wider.

“I am many years ahead of you in training, younger sister, and I assure you, I’ve been in constant practice.”  He slowly reached under his collar, and pulled a chain out from under his shirt.  Hanging from it was a pendant that made Svetlana’s blood run cold.

He merely nodded, understanding her reaction.  “I’d be interested to hear what the Council has been telling our brothers and sisters about this missing pendant.”

“Gabriel was said to have vanished, a long time ago.” She glared at him.  “Was he dead when you found him?”

Symon chuckled to himself.  “Oh, no.”  He looked toward the windows, out into the sunlight.  “I used to be him.  And if you’re willing to listen, I can tell you why I won’t go back.”

Svetlana merely looked at him.  It was showing, now that she looked closer, and she chided herself for not noticing sooner.  Even with his hands clasped behind him, and turned away from her, his stance was very precise, his hands clasped just so, and she never completely left his peripheral vision.  He was at ease near her, at least outwardly, but prepared for her if she chose to attack.

She had to know for sure.  She stepped to the side, out of his field of vision, as she’d seen her own instructors do countless times, and while her arm travelled toward him, her hand remained open and relaxed.  If her fist was closed, she knew, he’d see it as intended harm- but open-handed, it was not a serious threat.  And instantly, she had her proof- He turned the opposite direction as she did, and as her arm swung out, his hand caught it and redirected it away from his own head.  When they both stopped moving, he stood just behind her, just as relaxed as she was.  He’d positioned his feet behind and beside her own, locking her knees where they were.  His fingers wrapped around her wrist, not gripping her, but instead wedging her forearm to his own elbow.  She couldn’t twist, couldn’t attack again with the other hand, and couldn’t keep him from striking her if he’d chosen to.  The message was very clear.  She stepped forward and away from him, and he released her.  Both of them understood the attack as a test, and there was no need for another.

“I had to be sure,” she said, turning to face him again.

He smiled, pleasantly, and nodded.  “Of course.  Be more careful when trying to hit someone who is immune… it’s an easy way to get yourself infected.”  Then he cocked his head to the side, looking in her eyes- or through them, she thought for a moment.  Then he said something she could not possibly have expected.

“Then again, perhaps you don’t need to worry about being infected after all.”

“What do you mean?”

He waved the question away.  “So, has the Order tasked you with finding a way to stop the spreading of Carter’s Hill?  If so, you’re running out of time.”

“My task has been scouting villages, reporting back their defenses.  But recently, I’ve been looking for a pair of Immune.  They’ve discovered something that may strengthen village defenses against the Turned.”  She was too shocked to lie, and besides, if he truly had been a councilor of the Order, he knew all about her mission and activities anyway.

“Yes, Marlena and her new friend. I’ll be meeting with them later today.  I’m glad they made it here- by the sound of it, their discovery would have allowed Carters Hill to triple in strength and influence by this time next year.”  He threw her a sidelong smile.  “And that certainly would hinder the Order’s purpose, wouldn’t it?”

“Whatever it is, we’ll find a way to counter it,” she said, confidently.  “The Creator’s plan will still be completed.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Symon said, patiently.  “The Order is more concerned about Carter’s Hill in particular than they are about the little villages you’ve been helping to destroy.  Carter’s Hill is a rival.”

She felt her face betray her confusion.  “They’re just a village that has grown to a city.  They have no purpose but to continue, no concerns but their own survival.  Especially their leadership,” she said, not bothering to hide the derision in her voice.

He looked out the window, and sighed.  “Unfortunately, the Order has come around to their way of thinking,” he said, quietly.

She didn’t reply, merely waiting for him to continue.

“When I discovered my own Immunity, I wandered the wild for a long time.  I found myself exploring many of the ancient cities, and began wondering what it was they had done that had triggered the Creator’s decision to end their time here on Earth.  I thought it would be a gift, if I could walk amongst the ancient cities and return to the Great Rock with the ancient’s writings.  There are countless records, histories, stories of what humans did before the Turned appeared.  Records of the first appearence of the Turned are there, too, if you can find them.”

“But what fascinated me were the records that spoke of the Order, when it first appeared.  Do you remember your teachings of the Order’s origins?”

Svetlana nodded.  Her teachings had included the long history of the Order and its mission.  “It was a religious group, at the time considered extremist, that had called humanity decadent and in need of a great changing of its ways.”

Symon shook his head.  “Those teachings were not very accurate.  The records show our Order growing out of a religious group, yes, but one that seemed more interested in convincing non-members to send them money and favors than in changing the decadence they saw around them.  When the Turned arrived, the original members of the Order weren’t the only ones to call it the Creator’s Will… they merely happened to survive, and attract like-minded members to join.  It wasn’t until almost a generation later that the Mission of the Order was realized.”  He sighed again.  “And I doubt this is the greatest of lies you’ve been told.”

Svetlana stood beside him, looking out the windows.  Tarense was busy, with dozens of people just outside the house itself.  Not far away was a shop that made glass, pouring the molten material into square pools- the glass cooled into a smooth sheet on the surface of the water.

“I see changes in the Order when I return to the Great Rock, and not many of them good.  There’s more of us than ever, but the Council has ordered the capture of as many birth-slaves as possible.  It won’t be long before there’s too many of us for the Great Rock to hold.”

Symon turned to look at her.  “And that is precisely the plan, sister.  They’re not sending out strike teams of the size they should, which means fewer come back from their missions.”

She met his gaze, but didn’t speak.  He merely smiled.

“Being Immune gives me and my friends a wonderful advantage when gathering information,” he said.  She nodded understanding, and caught the hidden meaning as well;  Symon had been watching the Order, most likely the entire time he’d been thought dead.  “But the council compensates for the smaller strike teams by sending out more experienced fighters.  This has an interesting side effect on the population of the Order.”

She nodded again.  “The elder fighters are killed off faster, and the younger ones remain.”  She looked out the windows again.  “They’ve changed the teachings again.  My old combat instructor is one of the only old teachers left, and he says they’re teaching the young ones differently.  They believe the primary mission of the Order is survival, and bringing about the Creator’s plan is secondary.  I was taught the opposite.”

“And now you see why Carter’s Hill is their rival,” Symon said.  “The Order is planning to expand, and they need to prevent Carter’s Hill from doing the same.  However long it takes, sooner or later, the two will come into conflict.”

“What can we do about it?”

Symon was silent for a long moment.  Then he said, “There’s not much I can do about it, but you have more options than I do.  And you have the advantage of still being welcome in the Great Rock.”  He turned from the window, crossing the room to a tall bookshelf near the stairs.  He ran a finger along one shelf of books, then pulled one of them out.  When he returned to the window, he held the book out to her.

“This will tell you about the religion that the Order was founded on.  And it will tell you, indirectly, a lot about the Order.”  He sighed.  “The true nature of this religion was community, understanding, patience, friendship and compassion.  That is all but gone from the Order.  Perhaps it will lead you on the course I have chosen- to help other people around you, to make their lives better and longer, rather than shorter.  Because one of the primary teachings of this book,” he said, tapping its cover as she held it, “is that the purpose of life is to better yourself, to help your fellow humans, and that while life is brutal and painful much of the time, it is humanity’s purpose to rise above its strife.  This is the true reason the Creator unleashed the Turned upon us- not to destroy us, but to strengthen us.  To test our mettle, when we had grown too soft and complacent.  To unify us, when we had become divided and fought each other simply because there was no one else to fight.  Humans had conquered the world, and had few challenges- and few dangers to keep their numbers in check.  The Turned were the perfect solution.”

There was a knock at the door.  Symon turned his head, and called, “Yes?”

Oren had returned, but didn’t enter- merely stood on the door’s threshold.  “Symon, the village council wishes you to join them.”

Symon nodded.  “Please give Sventlana any assistance she requires- if she chooses to leave, she has plenty of daylight left.  If she chooses to stay, help her find a room at Regis’s.”  He turned to her again.  “Take care, sister.”  Then he moved to the door, smoothly as any combat instructor she’d ever studied with, and disappeared.

Oren held the door open for her, smiling.  “Do you want to stay in town tonight?  I see he lent you some reading material.”

She nodded.  “Yes, I would.”  Then she looked into Oren’s eyes.  “He said something to me earlier- that I might not have to worry about the Turned.  What did he mean?”

Oren’s eyebrows rose, and his smile widened.  “Good news, sister, good news.  I’ve known Symon for many, many years, and while he doesn’t often make a prediction, I have never seen him proven wrong.”

*****

The sky was dark before Jameson left the small house, making his way back toward where he thought the main gates were.  His mind swam with all that had been shared with him.  The city itself had been overwhelming- and still was.  Jameson had never seen so many people in one place.  And while he’d known there were others out there like himself, Marlena, and her friend Katrick, meeting so many of them in such a short time had changed his perspective about how rare his immunity was.  And a personal invitation to meet Symon hadn’t seemed impressive at first- but the possibilities that had been shared with him at that meeting had made the world take on a different shape completely.  He was in a daze, trying to absorb it all.  What he really needed was to have some quiet, some time to think.  A stiff drink or two wouldn’t hurt, either.  He thought back to his walks outside the village fence, what seemed like ages ago.  He had to think for a moment before he could remember exactly how long he’d been gone- three weeks now.  It seemed like three lifetimes.  He passed by workshops of smiths and tailors as they worked into the night, lanterns and forge-fires still burning.  He watched other people on the street, briefly wondering where each of them was heading, and whether or not they knew what had been shared with him.  It seemed too big for just him- and too important.  Something made him want to shout out his new knowledge, but he knew no one would believe him without the proof that Symon had shown him, without the explanation of all the other players.  The world around him had somehow turned itself into a marvelous chessboard, and he wasn’t sure what part he played- most likely a pawn.  This line of thought reminded him of a piece of advice from Marlena earlier in the day; she had said that if you couldn’t tell who the pawns were, you were probably one of them.  This didn’t bode well for his place in the game.  He was almost to the doors of Regis’ Inn when his senses all seemed to converge on someone behind him.

It wasn’t the infection that warned him- at least he didn’t think so.  It would allow him to feel the presence of people nearby, but there were lots of people nearby, and one wouldn’t stand out to his mind just because it was closer to him.  Maybe it was the past few weeks of living mostly in the wild, with the Turned always within 20 feet of him all night- he still hadn’t gotten completely used to the idea of them ignoring him.  Perhaps it was who this person was, perhaps it was the speed of their motion, perhaps the angle, and perhaps it was just their deadly intention leaping out from their mind to touch Jameson’s subconscious.

This internal debate happened within the scope of a fraction of a second.  He spun, leaned backward, and saw the silver flash in front of his eyes.  The sound the blade made as it cut the air so close to his head was identical to one he remembered, his mind replaying the older sound back for him so as to provide proof if he’d disbelieved.

The face was different.  He wore no helmet now, and the spark in his eyes was not that of a man fighting to save a life, but to end it.  His lips curled into a sneer.  His hair showed no signs of attention for weeks.  His armor was worn hard, dented and scratched in so many places that it looked decades old.  The arming clothes underneath were dirty and worn, as if they hadn’t been changed or cleaned in days, perhaps weeks.

“Thomas!” Jameson called his name out, hoping that the man before him would stop his assault once he’d realized who it was he was attacking.  The hope died a moment later.  The eyes recognized him, and the axe swung again.  Jameson stepped backward again, turning his head quickly to check his surroundings, then let his brother approach him again.

Thomas saw the question in Jameson’s eyes.  “They’re all dead, Jameson.  Dry River is dead.”  He pulled his axe close to his chest, in a defensive posture, but with the head still level with Jameson’s eyes.  “They came back the night after you left- the Believers- and they cut down our fences and killed most of the defenders.  They burned our house, and all the others with a second floor.  Terrence and I were the only two in armor when the Turned came in.  We fought until the sun came up, but I was the only one that lived that long.”  His voice was a growl now, the emotion behind the words a torrent that had been waiting for this moment to be released.  “Terrence thought they were just finishing the job they’d started, but I knew the truth- they were looking for you.”  He stepped closer.  “You’re the reason everyone is dead.”

Jameson’s face was in shock.  “Thomas, what would the Believers care about me?”

“They couldn’t let you survive, once they knew you were infected,” he said.  “And neither will I.”  He leaped forward, his blade whistling as it approached.  Jameson dodged it easily, but had to back up again.  He began circling, and his brother did the same.  Thomas attacked again, and Jameson found himself analyzing his brother’s movements.  All those years of practice should have made this a painfully short fight.  But soon Jameson realized that all Thomas’ practice and experience was against the Turned, who were not nearly as agile- and wouldn’t attempt to dodge even if they could.  His stamina was impressive- he’d been trained to keep up this tempo all night if necessary, but his swings became more wild as he became more frustrated.

Jameson also realized that his brother’s emotions were fraying, and quickly.  At first, he’d hoped to just tire Thomas, then reason with him, but the mind behind the fiery eyes was losing its hold.  As they moved, Jameson found himself slowly approaching the outer wall.  Those people who were still out on the streets were keeping their distance.  He glanced around at his surroundings, then turned back to his brother.

“Thomas, the Believers don’t care much about any given one of us,” Jameson said.  “They want everyone to die, not just you and me.”  He dodged again, then continued circling.  “They’d marked our village to be wiped out, but we fought off their first attack.  They had to try again before we had time to prepare for them.”

“What did our village matter to them?” Thomas shouted at him.  His voice betrayed his mental state.  The guards on the walls above looked inward now, wondering if they should intervene.  One began to climb down the ladder.

“It’s the smaller villages they need to stop, Thomas.” Jameson had learned so much just earlier that day, and now wished Thomas could have been there.  “They don’t want people to spread out anymore.  They can’t attack cities like this one, so they hit the places that are most vulnerable.”  He dodged another swing, then stepped back to give Thomas more space.  “Thomas, stop this.  We can put our own lives back together.  You know this isn’t any more my fault than it is your own.”

“Our lives are both over!” Thomas shouted.  His grip on the axe wavered, then the head dipped downward.  “I watched as our father was eaten alive- and I burned what was left of him the next morning!”  Tears welled in his eyes.  “I watched Terrence as they smothered him and pulled him apart!  Chandra, Amelia, Zachary… everyone!  The only reason they’re not among the Turned is because I burned them all!”

“Thomas, think about what you’re doing.  Stop, and listen to reason!”

The look he received was from someone that reason had abandoned.  The lips parted in a soundless, agonizing cry.  The eyes grew wilder, more desperate, and when his hands opened and the axe dropped to the ground, Jameson was confused.  The eyes looked ready to destroy him, to destroy everyone and everything, and it was a moment too late that he read the intentions behind them.  Thomas leaped toward the wall, throwing the descending guard aside and climbing the ladder.  Jameson followed him as quickly as he could, but by the time he’d reached the top, Thomas had hurled himself over the other side of the wall.  Jameson couldn’t see him, but the Turned knelt around him, frantically looking for a weakness in the armor they could bite through.  Only his head and neck were unprotected, and they wouldn’t last long.

Jameson turned away in shock.  He climbed down the ladder slowly, stiffly, and walked back toward Regis’s Inn without really knowing where he was going.  People stared at him as he passed, but no one said a word.  He was dimly aware that Grunnel and Marlena were nearby, but they didn’t speak.  It wasn’t until he was just inside the door that he consciously recognized a face.  It stepped into his path, staring him in the eyes.

And the face he recognized shocked him again.  White-blond hair under a black hood, pale skin and ghostly blue eyes.  He froze in place, unable to react.  Half of him was sure she would try to attack him, and while the adrenaline from Thomas’ fight was still coursing through him, he didn’t know how well he’d deal with her if she did.  But if that’s what she wanted, this was a strange place to choose for a battle.  And then she spoke, and what she said made even less sense than his own emotions did.

“Is it true?  That he can tell the difference?”

“Wh- what?” he stammered.

She moved toward him suddenly and quickly, clasping his face in her hands, and open-mouth kissed him before he realized what she was doing.   He felt her lips part over his own, and her tongue touched his.  There was a fiery passion in her, and he felt it come through her and into him where their faces touched.  And suddenly all the shock drained out of him and his mind screamed at him-

YOU ARE INFECTING HER!

He broke away from her, and her eyes seemed to lock his with their stare.  She caressed his cheek with one hand, then she turned, exited the building, and disappeared into the night.

Jameson staggered to a table, and barely found a stool before his legs gave out.  After a few moments, he noticed that Marlena had sat down next to him.  Her hand rested on the table, near his own, and he took the invitation and clasped it.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

He turned his head to look at her.  “All right?  My brother, and closest friend in my life, just tried to kill me before leaping into the Turned to kill himself- and then the woman who is supposedly doing everything she can to kill me, you, and everyone else like us- kissed me harder than I’ve ever felt in my life before vanishing out the door.  I don’t think I even know what ‘all right’ is!”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: