And then, with very little comeback / backswing she memorised every number in his directory, burning them brainwise and fancyfreeing until the crying from the next room stopped and she could race in there, amok and swinging, throwing her voice deep into the floorboards to make them think she was coming from beneath...
In the firefight confusion, many wounded. Others counted burns n scars n yellow cousins of typhus and cholera and gangrene; war injuries, they claimed but ones where no one else in the world admitted they'd ever taken place.
In the dark, Jane thrashed around, wheeling and whealing, her hair already alight from the previous evenings oil throwing.
Time stood still.