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[It may help to read this ... and maybe this]
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“You alone, hun?” A woman’s voice. A mother’s voice. From the right.
The girl turned. Noticed the woman’s long black hair. The mole on her cheek. The infant on her lap, sleeping. For now.
“Who brought you, dear? They sitting close?”
The girl glanced around. Taking time to make up a lie. A small fib. She wouldn’t dare tell the woman Amphibian brought her.
But not only her, of course. Amphibian brought them all.
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The tadpole, one of hundreds, slunk low to the bottom of the slough. Hugging the muck. The craggy roots of reeds. It watched as the others watched. Their soft beady eyes fixed on a woman bringing life back to a muskrat. More than life – its lost body and spirit. She lifted the animal to the sky, its eyes, like hers, glowing green. And as the wind whipped the surface of the water, the tadpole sensed the stir of something deeper, something even the woman was not aware of, tainting the already muddied brackish water. From below. Far, far below.
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“Hun, you sit with me until your mom finds you.” The woman turned to her husband. Whispered to him. “Go talk to the usher, down there. Tell him there’s a lost child up here.”
“I ain’t lost,” the girl said. “Mind your business.”
The woman’s husband, who had started making his way down the aisle, froze. Looked back at his wife.
“We’re just going to get someone who can help you find your mom,” the woman said to the girl. “This isn’t a place for a little girl to be all alone.”
“I ain’t lost. And I ain’t alone.” The girl sat back in her chair, a clench to her expression, settling the matter. She grabbed the day’s media guide she’d tucked under one arm. Studied the picture of Amphibian Johnson gracing its cover – posed with a bat in his hand and standing in waist high water. A brand new Mad Popes hat tucked low onto his head, pushing out his ears.
She brought the picture close to her face -- one last check to be certain there were no strings yoking him to the sky above.
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