Frail
“Work. Again. I was wandering down to the cookhouses on Illinois, staring at grass blades sliding up through the sidewalk cracks wondering how long it would take them to eat up all the concrete, when Phoebe came slithering from behind a willow tree and slid her skinny arm around my shoulder. I kept trying to pull away and she kept gripping tighter, her longer legs setting the pace.
“So how’re you doing lately, kid?” Grinning right in my face, her eyelids still puffy and dropping with sleep b...ut her jaw clenched and twisted tight with the tension that never left her; she was a tooth-grinder, you could tell just looking at her. I’d hear my mother doing that sometimes as she slept, a soft little squeak, squeak from the next room like a blunt knife sawing at Styrofoam. “It’s been days! Settling in okay? Rest of the kitchen kids treating you all right—”
“Don’t you have any work to do?” I asked, shoving hands in my pockets. I was tired of being polite to her.MoreLess
“So how’re you doing lately, kid?” Grinning right in my face, her eyelids still puffy and dropping with sleep b...ut her jaw clenched and twisted tight with the tension that never left her; she was a tooth-grinder, you could tell just looking at her. I’d hear my mother doing that sometimes as she slept, a soft little squeak, squeak from the next room like a blunt knife sawing at Styrofoam. “It’s been days! Settling in okay? Rest of the kitchen kids treating you all right—”
“Don’t you have any work to do?” I asked, shoving hands in my pockets. I was tired of being polite to her.MoreLess
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