I feel strange on my new longer legs, walking. But - It feels like I was - meant to be this way. My thoughts feel sharper, somehow. Is this what it feels like to be grown up?
I'm still scared, though. That doesn't go away.
A breeze has come up as we walk down to the river, and the hairs on the back of my arms stand up. It's too dark to see them well, but I think there are more of them now. I pinch underneath my armpit and find there's a little bit of hair there, like fuzz on a baby's head. It feels strange, too.
"The wind's changing," says Father. "You can feel it too, can't you?"
I nod. I can. It's warmer, and it smells of - sand and salt.
"I wish you didn't want to do this," I say, as we get to the bridge.
"If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," says Father brightly, then looks more serious. "I know, dear child. But it is what I have always wanted." She pauses and looks at me, cocks her head. "If you believe I am beginning the end of the world, why not just let me kill your mother? Since all this will be ended soon anyway."
"Because - you might not succeed," I say. My skin shivers, afraid of what she'll say, but she just laughs.
"You get your optimism from your mother. Here." She lifts her skirt, and untucks a knife (http://pirates.missiledine.com/images/daggers/arabdagger.jpg) from a belt around her waist.
"It's very beautiful," I say, looking at it. It is. "Is it - is it sharp?" I don't want it to be blunt, because it'll take longer.
"Sharp and true as love," says Father, and kisses me on the mouth. "You know what to do."
She walks to the other side of the bridge. I'm glad. I don't want to look at her. Instead I take a breath and walk across to the carnival side. Father's making a point, I think, having me do it here. A message.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I whisper. I have to hold the blade for a while to stop it shaking, and then I lift it to my throat.
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I'm still scared, though. That doesn't go away.
A breeze has come up as we walk down to the river, and the hairs on the back of my arms stand up. It's too dark to see them well, but I think there are more of them now. I pinch underneath my armpit and find there's a little bit of hair there, like fuzz on a baby's head. It feels strange, too.
"The wind's changing," says Father. "You can feel it too, can't you?"
I nod. I can. It's warmer, and it smells of - sand and salt.
"I wish you didn't want to do this," I say, as we get to the bridge.
"If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride," says Father brightly, then looks more serious. "I know, dear child. But it is what I have always wanted." She pauses and looks at me, cocks her head. "If you believe I am beginning the end of the world, why not just let me kill your mother? Since all this will be ended soon anyway."
"Because - you might not succeed," I say. My skin shivers, afraid of what she'll say, but she just laughs.
"You get your optimism from your mother. Here." She lifts her skirt, and untucks a knife (http://pirates.missiledine.com/images/daggers/arabdagger.jpg) from a belt around her waist.
"It's very beautiful," I say, looking at it. It is. "Is it - is it sharp?" I don't want it to be blunt, because it'll take longer.
"Sharp and true as love," says Father, and kisses me on the mouth. "You know what to do."
She walks to the other side of the bridge. I'm glad. I don't want to look at her. Instead I take a breath and walk across to the carnival side. Father's making a point, I think, having me do it here. A message.
"I'm sorry, Mama," I whisper. I have to hold the blade for a while to stop it shaking, and then I lift it to my throat.