10-30-2018, 04:30 PM
In his youth Jude had once come across a series of horror books for children, one that offered choices at the end of several paragraph, each choice prompting the reader to flip to a particular page, where they learned whether or not they met their doom at the hands of a werewolf, or stumbling into a pit in the woods, or electrocuting themselves with a toaster oven. The early endings were terrifically unsatisfactory, especially when death arrived too quicckly, in some dull or banal form. What a bad ending it would be, if somehow Near killed him with that old, decorative gun. How anti-climactic.
But Jude figured this was a different type of book, a more regular sort, where the end was written at the start, though the reader was generally quite ignorant of what fate had in store for the characters. If Near was meant to shoot him, then he would. Jude's purpose was to turn the pages, not to predict every outcome.
"It is that cold." Jude's voice tinged faintly with peevishness; Near's response was incorrect. "Are you going to make us talk on your lawn?" A lawn confrontation, like death by toaster oven, felt offensive. And yet, what was to be done? Jude shifted the bag slung over his shoulder, as if preparing to drop it and converse right there. "Whatever you want, Mister Farr."
He tried to remember. Had he met Near Farr, all those years ago? Or was Near fast asleep, or away from home, while Jude drank his juice and waited for his caretakers to turn him out?
But Jude figured this was a different type of book, a more regular sort, where the end was written at the start, though the reader was generally quite ignorant of what fate had in store for the characters. If Near was meant to shoot him, then he would. Jude's purpose was to turn the pages, not to predict every outcome.
"It is that cold." Jude's voice tinged faintly with peevishness; Near's response was incorrect. "Are you going to make us talk on your lawn?" A lawn confrontation, like death by toaster oven, felt offensive. And yet, what was to be done? Jude shifted the bag slung over his shoulder, as if preparing to drop it and converse right there. "Whatever you want, Mister Farr."
He tried to remember. Had he met Near Farr, all those years ago? Or was Near fast asleep, or away from home, while Jude drank his juice and waited for his caretakers to turn him out?