From Novel #2 in progress, tentatively titled, “Heathens, Blood and Stone”


Mirror’s head tilted, and she leaned to the side.

The person was slouched down on the train seat, but the black sweatshirt was so non-forming that the resulting bagginess left the distinct impression of a curve deeply slouched onto the seat. The knees were no different; the bagginess of the jeans, this shade of navy, left no distinct impression of a knee, it was just part of the curve occurring at that region as well. In fact, there were no distinct impressions of body parts at all; not even a distinct shoulder, even though the person’s hooded head leaned on the pane bordering the train’s doorway. No hands, even, buried into the bagginess of the too-short pants- did they even come up to the guy’s waist?

“What are you doing?” Nancy asked.

“Trying to see if this guy’s made of bone.”

A snicker skipped out of Nancy. “He is kinda like a spaghetti trying to sit on a chair, isn’t he?”

“Can you see his face?” Mirror asked.

The front of a cap protruded from the sweatshirt’s hood, but that was all that could be seen.


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