All at once she was aware of the contrast she saw in the mirror. Cindy and she looked a lot alike — though her sister had always been prettier — and they had often been taken for twins with streaks of individuality. But at the moment there was no resemblance between them at all. Cindy stood there looking beautiful while she herself looked like a derelict: dirty, ragged, and bruised. [...]
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She fell backwards onto the low coffee table… the side of her jaw screamed with pain — or was that her voice?… then a sharp stabbing as she landed on something hard and rolled onto the floor, hitting her head on the corner of the table… the hard object she had fallen on went down with her as the table tilted and she felt herself lying on the bruising hardness of stone… she reached down under herself and felt the slick coolness as she pulled the object out… her stone horse… the weight was solid in her hand as anger surged… she brought her arm forward, feeling the heavy stone leave her hand as she flung it at Billy… [...] The water was now at her neck and for the first time in her life she wished she was taller. She prayed and thanked Jesus for the moon, for enough light to see just a bit ahead of her, but feared too all this light might give her away. As if Jesus heard her concern, the moon would occasionally hide behind the clouds, leaving her in such darkness she would extend her hands as far as she could hoping to touch the end of the river, the invisible, unimaginable other side. [...] |
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