By The Shore—NIGHT
I am camping By the Shore again when the missionaries arrive. They gather the scots and me and lead us to a platform of wet sand which they have created on the beach.
“This, if laid upon,” they say, pointing to something of a dais in the center of the mound, “Allows the spirit to echo throughout all the sleepers on the platform. A sort of local kiva ritual.”
They also say my soul is clearly the most disturbed so I should sleep on top of the dais and everyone else around the base in order to feel my pain and understand.
“I appreciate the idea,” I admit, “But don’t believe in such nonsense.” I scuttle off toward Iris. Who has made an appearance on the edge of the gathering crowd. Who has been overhearing.
“You want to hear my echo?” I call to her as I approach.
She says nothing.
“Come on! Let me show you how it reverberates!” I begin to say grabbing her shoulder jokingly. She shrugs me off violently.
“You are a freak!” she tells me in a hiss. I look to Mary. Who is also near. She nods in agreement.
I run off heartbroken.
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