A Convenient Lie

It was a sad day for Platypus Ignotus.  The rain kept falling into her wide eyes, even though it wasn’t raining and she was completely dry.  She was related to Jared Ingleberry, who you might know if you’ve read about that eventful day at Underwood River.  Jared was her uncle.

There was no rain, and her face was somewhat misguided by the bright lights that shine down from passing school buses.  And the children filing out throwing metaphorical stones at her, they liked to see her cry.  They didn’t even know why, they had no motive.  They just liked it.  They were young sadists, living out the endless prophecy of evil.

Strings told her where to go, and she followed them blindly.  Were they human, or were they something more?  Were they animals, or were they something less?  Nothing could suffice her tireless mind.

And the gunshot wound in her side, it kept getting worse. And her killer, he stood miles away and yet was next to her.

But nothing of it was real.  She thought so.  But it didn’t matter anyway.   She was dead.

Or was she?

Platypus Ignotus was having a bad day.

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