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text . open spam . 2nd attack
Free stuff outside level 7 cabin 2. I don't want it.
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[She's still feeling the lingering aches from being ill, but she doesn't pay any attention to it. She has a few good meals in her and too much energy to just sit there. She wants to know what happened. Did any of them make it? Are they all dead? How did Colonel Finley feel about it?
And the sight of her own bedroom appalls her.
So she drags out big plastic bins from her closet and starts tossing stuff inside.
Snow globes and fancy headbands. Old clothes. Who needs that many tops? A lamp that doesn't work. A collection of smooth stones; a glass bottle fused shut.
Beaded bracelets. (Except for one that reads BEST, because she knows who had the other one, who had the half that read FRIENDS and for a few minutes she stares at it, unable to move.) Cheap stuffed animals. A whole series of trophies from hockey. A plastic unicorn filled with layers of colored sand. Old ugly sweaters and figurines and half-used collections of colored pencils. Hand-dipped candles, irregular and bulging and leaning noticeably to the side.
She keeps all her books.
She throws away baskets of souvenir paperweights and keychains and cheap jewelry.
And she drags it all out into the hallway, leaving it there in piles.]
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[She's still feeling the lingering aches from being ill, but she doesn't pay any attention to it. She has a few good meals in her and too much energy to just sit there. She wants to know what happened. Did any of them make it? Are they all dead? How did Colonel Finley feel about it?
And the sight of her own bedroom appalls her.
So she drags out big plastic bins from her closet and starts tossing stuff inside.
Snow globes and fancy headbands. Old clothes. Who needs that many tops? A lamp that doesn't work. A collection of smooth stones; a glass bottle fused shut.
Beaded bracelets. (Except for one that reads BEST, because she knows who had the other one, who had the half that read FRIENDS and for a few minutes she stares at it, unable to move.) Cheap stuffed animals. A whole series of trophies from hockey. A plastic unicorn filled with layers of colored sand. Old ugly sweaters and figurines and half-used collections of colored pencils. Hand-dipped candles, irregular and bulging and leaning noticeably to the side.
She keeps all her books.
She throws away baskets of souvenir paperweights and keychains and cheap jewelry.
And she drags it all out into the hallway, leaving it there in piles.]
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Such as?
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[ It's already cracked open; it's only that much closed because it drifted there as she was ransacking her closet. ]
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May I come in?
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Sure. Fine.
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What are you going to do with what goes unclaimed?
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[ She's not keeping it. ]
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That's sexist.
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[ so flat. ]
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[He's not exactly apologetic.] I like clothes, too. I wouldn't throw any of mine out for anyone to take.
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[ Someone took her house and her land and the livestock and the equipment. They took everything. ]
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Before the Barge, you mean. Who?
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It's all gone. This is just fake. You can't give back an imitation of all of it and say it's OK. It's not.
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