Janice hadn't exactly had a happy childhood, even though she came from the suburban, middle-class fantasy of a ranch house, two kids, two cars and a dog. Mother even stayed at home to raise Janice and her older brother Mott; but mostly Mother watched her soaps and drank her gin-laced tea, leaving the disciplining of the children to the children's father. And Father, a former high school football hero going to fat, alcohol and anger, welcomed the excuse to give his life's disappointments into the safekeeping of his children--very brutally and with relish.
Then the Tellulil came.
She first felt their presence when she was fifteen. That was when Mott took his still-damp diploma and ran for the nearest recruiting office, leaving Janice the sole recipient of their father's angry love.
A few weeks later, she lay in bed, moonlight streaming through the mullions to cast prison bars across the door. By that furtive light she read again the postcard addressed to their parents, but not to her. A message that said between prosaic lines he was glad to be gone, glad to ignore his sister's predicament.
"Fine," she said to herself, the card slipping between her fingers over and over and over. "It's not like we were friends or anything."
The moon's brightness seemed to wink at her, a sly acknowledgment.
She smiled in acquiescence and lifted the blanket. Yeah, the night was young, and a fifteen-year-old with Tellulil like hers could make all the friends she wanted down at Joe McKirk's wine lodge.
Opening: Writtenwyrdd.....Continuation: Anon.