Animals
After a long time the quiet peace of sleep-time returns. The cat creeps out to the iron pole. The smell of blood and the burning stink linger in the air. Two-legs are dangerous and unpredictable. They aren't that different from the bare-tails in the tunnels. They hurt each other for no reason she knows. That is why she walks alone.
Uncle Jean did the one thing you're never supposed to do in a kayak. He leaned over hard, so that all his weight bore down on one side of the kayak. And Uncle Jean is big. We were about to capsize.
Aunt Daisy's words rang in my head, like a song you can't forget, no matter how hard you try. "Three minutes until you lose sensation in your extremities."
I wriggled my fingers and toes. While I still could.
He opens his hand, and there's this little plastic bag of powder. White powder. He reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a short straw. "Voila," he says. "Care for a toot?"
I stare at the cocaine, and while part of my brain wants to say, "No, jerk, get out," another voice inside me is saying, "Why not?"
The bear lowers its head. When a dog looks like this, it means you could get bitten. When a bear looks like this, it means you could be lunch. The bear's eyes harden, as if he has lost patience with us. We're on his trail and he wants us off. The bear opens his jaws. Big jaws. Really big teeth. His jaws make a smacking sound.
I whisper, "He's going to eat us."
