The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl (2005)
“Her dreams were a sinister nonsense montage: cowboys made of fire, drawing plastic cap guns that melted in their hands; wagon trains in which the wagons were somehow alive, but dying, struggling along like starving oxen, ragged bloody holes opening in the canvas; flash floods tearing through the streets of Santa Cruz, clocks and park benches and potted plants bobbling and tumbling in the white rush of water; Marzi painting on the ribs of the sky with a bloodied brush, her one-pigment palette a ...sucking wound in her own chest. The last dream, the one she woke from, was of a machine like a chrome bulldozer, chewing up the terrain before it, leaving nothing but antiseptic whiteness in its wake.
Marzi leapt out of bed, not even half awake, as the quake hit. The pictures on her walls swayed, creaking. Her lamp fell over, the bulb breaking with a tinkle. The wind chimes in her bedroom window jingled wildly, and her bookshelf gave a little bounce, disgorging its contents onto the floor. Marzi stumbled through the shaking room to the doorway, standing in the threshold, holding on to the doorjamb, blinking her eyes and coming into consciousness.MoreLess
Marzi leapt out of bed, not even half awake, as the quake hit. The pictures on her walls swayed, creaking. Her lamp fell over, the bulb breaking with a tinkle. The wind chimes in her bedroom window jingled wildly, and her bookshelf gave a little bounce, disgorging its contents onto the floor. Marzi stumbled through the shaking room to the doorway, standing in the threshold, holding on to the doorjamb, blinking her eyes and coming into consciousness.MoreLess
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