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Unformatted text preview: f the tree and then falling against its dark, good-smelling rough surface. Like stone it felt, no hint that it was alive, not here at the craggy base where the roots were like rocks, only up and out there where the small branches moved in the wind. "Go to Michael, Emaleth. Tell him every- thing. Go to Michael." It hurts, Mother, it hurts. "Remember, Emaleth, go to Michael." Mother, do not die. You must help me be born. You must give me your eyes and the milk, lest I be small and useless. She wandered out from the trunk, to where the grass was soft and silken under her feet, between a pair of the great sprawling elbow branches. Dark and sweet here. I'm going to die, darling. No, Mother. I'm coming now. Help me! It was dark and sweet here, with heaps of leaves and moss like a bower. She lay on her back, her body pulsing with one shock of pain after another. Moss above, soft moss hanging down, and the moon snagged up there, and so beautiful. She felt the fluid gush, warm against her thighs, and then the worst of the pain, and something soft and wet stroking her. She lifted her own hand, unable to coordinate, unabl...
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This note was uploaded on 02/20/2010 for the course WRITING 220.200 taught by Professor Julie during the Spring '10 term at Johns Hopkins.
- Spring '10