PseudoPod 857: Of Dark That Bites
Of Dark That Bites
“Where do we go when we die?” asked Bea.
She was in her car seat, a masterpiece of straps and safety standards that did less than nothing to assuage the mad patter of Lucy’s heart whenever she had to drive over Brassknocker Hill. The slopes were too steep, the roads too narrow. Recently someone had crashed into one of the low walls at the side of the road, opening a snaggle-toothed, hazard-lit gap in the stone. Nobody had gone over as far as she knew, but every time she passed the gap her heart leapt in her mouth and her head crowded with gory pictures. The smallest skid would do it. No time to even panic – just a roller coaster lurch in the pit of the stomach, a screech of tyres trying to grip, and then a blur of Cotswold green before the lights went out. Her skin was still crawling from a recent conversation with someone who was supposed to be a rational adult, and now here was her seven year old daughter coming in hard with the existential questions. (Continue Reading…)