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3: 13.

Outline for a story I shouldnt yet be focusing on.


For a week the supply of forks in the silverware drawer had been dwindling and now three remained. Marion and his wife sat at the wooden kitchen table out of sight from the corridor leading into the room and waited–and not for long. As dusk began to settle Linus walked in without pretense nor caution nor shame and looked at his curious parents, opened the drawer, and took a fork with him out the back door. Wordlessly. As always. The adults stood and followed him a couple of minutes later, watching their son’s head weave through the cornfield of Knave’s Acre, and as they approached the clearing in which Linus sat, they heard a high thin squeak. Over his narrow shoulder were twelve forks standing upright in the dirt with a fieldmouse dead on the tines. Before him now was another mouse similarly dying, its small body trembling, eyes focused on nothing.

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