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Aug. 1st, 2006 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyfirestarterThey try to work out, later, which of the children was the first to wake up.
In the boys' dorm, Matthias, Avi, Justin; in the girls', Hana, Tamisan, Mavis, Beth. It's their best guess, since those are the ones who were crying -- and the crying doesn't last long, once the others awaken and the good-mind coalesces.
It's okay, is the pulse through the good-mind (as Leon gathers Avi into a hug and rocks him, as Zillah climbs onto the foot of Beth's bed, as Sarai kneels next to Mavis and strokes her hair); it'll be okay, and Beam says sorry.
Even through the good-mind, there's something chilling about that.
Beam says sorry.
It's hours later before the resident psychics, working slowly and carefully, are able to piece together any concrete images from the kids.
The thinny, and the chasm; the train, the airplane, the wheelchair. Two wheelchairs. The deserted beach, and the sound of wings, and the rose that changes color.
And the wheelchair again, pushed by two scrawny arms, and the door that closes behind them.
So passes America's last gunslinger, O Discordia.
Charlie McGee has a report to write to headquarters in New York.
In the boys' dorm, Matthias, Avi, Justin; in the girls', Hana, Tamisan, Mavis, Beth. It's their best guess, since those are the ones who were crying -- and the crying doesn't last long, once the others awaken and the good-mind coalesces.
It's okay, is the pulse through the good-mind (as Leon gathers Avi into a hug and rocks him, as Zillah climbs onto the foot of Beth's bed, as Sarai kneels next to Mavis and strokes her hair); it'll be okay, and Beam says sorry.
Even through the good-mind, there's something chilling about that.
Beam says sorry.
It's hours later before the resident psychics, working slowly and carefully, are able to piece together any concrete images from the kids.
The thinny, and the chasm; the train, the airplane, the wheelchair. Two wheelchairs. The deserted beach, and the sound of wings, and the rose that changes color.
And the wheelchair again, pushed by two scrawny arms, and the door that closes behind them.
So passes America's last gunslinger, O Discordia.
Charlie McGee has a report to write to headquarters in New York.
