Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 135.13

“And they call me a monster.” Gillian stalked past them and up the stairs, Lucy bouncing against her hip. Harold was constantly in awe of the child's ability to sleep despite being carried about in the most uncomfortable of positions He remembered being very wakeful as a child and prone to colds. At least that's what him mum used to say. She'd give him cough medicine most nights. He could still remember the bottle and its swirling, tan coloured medicine which Ada would shake vigorously to disperse the kaolin among the rest of the fluid. At least Lucy was as healthy as a small ox.

“You are, dear.” Jasfoup called up after her. “We're talking about saving humanity with the death of one man–”

“Two, actually.” Harold couldn't help correcting the demon. It was like having a person scoreboard of errors inside his head. “Percival and Sam.”

“But Sam's already dead.”

“Semantics, surely? I bet there's a death certificate for Percival somewhere. He was missing for twenty years.”

“The definition of life is that the spirit is still attached to a naturally functioning, original body.”

“So people with pacemakers aren't alive then?”


“They don't have naturally functioning bodies.”

“By which I mean not supernaturally sustained as you jolly well know.”

“Right.” Harold thought for a moment. “Am I alive, then? Only I have a supernaturally sustained longevity.”

“Longevity being the operative word.” Jasfoup pointed after Gillian. “Come on. We'll lose the leech as well if we're not careful.”

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