God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

Fate Intervened. Some Of Us, That Day, She Led Inexorably Through The Gates Of Death. Some Of Us, Innocent And Unsuspecting, Took, Unwillingly, That One Last Step To Oblivion. Some Of Us Took Very Little Sugar.

Let Him Be Wise, Or Let Me Be Blind; Don't Let Me, She Hoped Concretely, Don't Let Me Know Too Surely What He Thinks Of Me.

God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

My Name Is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I Am Eighteen Years Old, And I Live With My Sister Constance. I Have Often Thought That With Any Luck At All, I Could Have Been Born A Werewolf, Because The Two Middle Fingers On Both My Hands Are The Same Length, But I Have Had To Be Content With What I Had. I Dislike Washing Myself, And Dogs, And Noise. I Like My Sister Constance, And Richard Plantagenet, And Amanita Phalloides, The Death-cup Mushroom. Everyone Else In Our Family Is Dead.

We Moved Together Very Slowly Toward The House, Trying To Understand Its Ugliness And Ruin And Shame.