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July 24, 2007


Stolen Property

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Jim: Casualties of War

Back and forth, he paced the parlor, his scowl deepening with each lap of the polished hardwood floor. Every now and then a harsh, “Damn them!” escaped his tightened lips.

“It’s what the North does, my dear,” said the thin woman in a lavender hoopskirt. “We’re at war, remember?”

He stopped and spun; rage lighting his eyes. “I’m running a plantation here,” he hissed. “I paid over a hundred dollars for each head and now the Yanks come and take them away!

“They’re just cows, dear. It would have been much worse if they’d found where you’d hidden the slaves.”

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Michele: You Must Remember This

"I want to remember."
"It isn't your memory."
"I can take it."
"We're here to observe, not steal or interfere."

He put his hand to the girl's scalp again. The girl stirred in her sleep. He pushed down on her head and reached the spot again where he found the chocolate. He pushed deeper, sensing something big was there.

Calliopes, parties, games. His fingers glided over them, caught on something big. He grasped and pulled.

Darkness. Screaming. Fire. Fear.
They were now his.

Later, a girl woke up not with the usual scream, but with a smile.

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