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for fifteen, scrawny, but probably dangerous-looking to someone who didn’t know him. Just watching him, watching the way he stood and moved, anyone could tell he was a fighter. No wonder the tourists had run. He’d gotten into a fight only yesterday, got his stomach swung at by a metal bat, but it was the other boy who ended up being in trouble; even before Genesis had managed to get his breath back, it took two full-grown men to pull him off the other kid. Genesis walked up to Honeygirl, wringing out his shirt. The water splashed her knees. “It’s great,” he said. “Nice and cold.” “Too bloody.” “What?” “Too bad. I prefer warm.” Genesis nodded, slowly. “Oh,” was all he said. His gaze wandered off into the trees again, like it sometimes did when Honeygirl was talking to him, or when anyone was talking to him for that matter. His eyes widened, glazed over. For a tiny part of a second, Honeygirl thought he’d died standing, that all those spirits in the water crawled out and gouged out his soul with their broken spears. Honeygirl nearly stood up and shook him, but then he turned his head back in the direction of those sorry stairs. “You’re done,” she said, and yanked on his wrist. “One more,” he whispered. She felt the words move through her like a passing ghost, leaving its cold touch lingering at her core. 121

2009-10 Parallax  

Idyllwild Arts Academy Student Literature/Art Magazine 2009-10

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