The Cedarville Review 2020

48 | THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW I laughed at that. It was good pain. I stepped back in the creek and let the frigid purity of nature’s built-in hospital do its job. Mum never found out about this one. I drank the water once—Dad said I would get sick from bacteria, but that was rubbish. When the bombs fall on the outside world, what will it matter? I found an old plastic toy once. Some forgotten action figure that never caught on. I picked it up from its bed of decaying leaves; little red ants swarmed up my arm. Groups of little cha- otic clockwork, circles within circles. Somehow I was so happy then. It was always winter wonderland when three feet of snow fell from heaven. My brother and sister and I sledded into the valley, dodging trees. Adrenaline with no thought of cost. We used New England’s trademark stone walls as a jump. The blighted elm and ash. The pine needles’ slickness as I climbed the steepest hill I could find on all fours. Tom Sawyer on a rock preci- pice over the valley. Home.