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I
edge
closer
and
now
I
know
that
it
’
s
not
Teddy
lying
there
.
It
’
s
me
.
The
blood
from
my
chest
has
seeped
through
my
shirt
,
skirt
,
and
sweater
,
and
is
now
pooling
like
paint
drops
on
the
virgin
snow
.
One
of
my
legs
is
askew
,
the
skin
and
muscle
peeled
away
so
that
I
can
see
white
streaks
of
bone
My
eyes
are
closed
,
and
my
dark
brown
hair
is
wet
and
rusty
with
blood
.
I
spin
away
.
This
isn
’
t
right
.
This
cannot
be
happening
.
We
are
a
family
,
going
on
a
drive
.
This
isn
’
t
real
.
I
must
have
fallen
asleep
in
the
car
.
No
!
Stop
.
Please
stop
.
Please
wake
up
!
I
scream
into
the
chilly
air
.
It
’
s
cold
.
My
breath
should
smoke
.
It
doesn
’
t
.
I
stare
down
at
my
wrist
,
the
one
that
looks
fine
,
untouched
by
blood
and
gore
,
and
I
pinch
as
hard
as
I
can
.
I
don
’
t
feel
a
thing
.
I
have
had
nightmares
before
—
falling
nightmares
,
playing
a
cello
recital
without
knowing
the
music
nightmares
,
breakup
with
Adam
nightmares
—
but
I
have
always
been
able
to
command
myself
to
open
my
eyes
,
to
lift
my
head
from
the
pillow
,
to
halt
the
horror
movie
playing
behind
my
closed
lids
.
I
try
again
.
Wake
up
!
I
scream
.
Wake
up
!
Wakeupwakeupwakeup
!
But
I
can
’
t
.
I
don
’
t
.
Then
I
hear
something
.
It
’
s
the
music
.
I
can
still
hear
the
music
.
So
I
concentrate
on
that
.
I
finger
the
notes
of
Beethoven
’
s
Cello
Sonata
no
.
3
with
my
hands
,
as
I
often
do
when
I
listen
to
pieces
I
am
working
on
.
Adam
calls
it
"
air
cello
.
"
He
’
s
always
asking
me
if
one
day
we
can
play
a
duet
,
him
on
air
guitar
,
me
on
air
cello
.
"
When
we
’
re
done
,
we
can
thrash
our
air
instruments
,
"
he
jokes
.
"
You
know
you
want
to
.
"
I
play
,
just
focusing
on
that
,
until
the
last
bit
of
life
in
the
car
dies
,
and
the
music
goes
with
it
.
It
isn
’
t
long
after
that
the
sirens
come
.
Am
I
dead
?
I
actually
have
to
ask
myself
this
.