39 Horses My Mom Loved ONLINE
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The Whimpering Wood War Part 1: Exciting for the Forthcoming War
A dull reverberation clattered slowly, in termite increments, off the heads of the human population. The grainy whines had grinded into becoming too much a slow dust migration for the popular lung. Interest in the ancient puppy-dog cries of the trees depopulated when the deadwood crafts of the people added their lung-punctured- cat hisses of a baby's hunger to the sonic stew. (It wasn't directly painful at first. It was a startling object found in the sand; a conversation piece more dramatic than humidity.) Heads turned to whispering ears thudding messages through the clench-toothed concave speakers: Clean out the flue. Save your gasoline. Take up smoking. You know it will come.
Emily nodded in a continual jerk, thinking fo the suitcase lurking amidst the basement's storage boxes, as her father told her forehead what he had seen on T.V. Understanding her father's jovially joweled exclamations on the merits of The Cleaner Sweepertm made her sweat beneath the frantic space-heater mutterings of the coffee table's self-pity. Nodding did not. The slight breeze's non-committal traveling through her hair cooled her staring brow- the tactile mantra urinating all thoughts but passive agreement. He coughed. Emily watched the resulting dust cloud until supper, picturing in the mites a world where she could fly.