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Childish Mortals


Copyright © 2013 by Douglas T. Vale


Cover image courtesy of Grapix / StockFreeImages.com


All rights reserved.


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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Mother Valerie paced along, running her fingers across the spines of parenting books in a thick wooden shelf to her left. She'd never read the books. There must be twenty different volumes, covering everything from infancy to the last days. Mother Valerie smiled bitterly as her fingers brushed the last volume. Children always grew too fast, and then were gone. She'd tried to slow things down, but it never worked. Her children always left her.

Sighing, she turned and strode over to the large panoramic window set into the north side of the house. The window took up most of the wall.

Outside, a muddy gray scene presented itself, a short patch of grass followed by a thin line of tall scraggly trees. Beyond the trees the ground dropped off in a sheer cliff, and down at the bottom of the cliff little waves splashed against mud. Her house sat on one of the inner edges of a coastal bay. From certain windows she could see the opening to the northeast. From other windows she could see across the bay to the other side, the dark line of trees and the occasional flashing light. At least nature didn't seem to age so fast. How many years had she stared out? It didn't matter.

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