My son saw women peel their skin from their bones and burn their bodies out like cane fire before bed . . .
Naga raced across the floor. She knew if she crawled, the pebbles would dig into her skin and make her sore. She made for the nearest pole and climbed to the highest rafter, where she curled up and watched the man on the crocus-sack mattress, grunting and writhing . . .
The rain stops now and I shake my head to fling the last drop off my big straw hat. It have a freezing trickle of water running down my arm, a silver ball escaping down to the tip of my finger. Forest rain does be like that: cold in the humidity, shining like hell when the light touch it . . .
It was hard to resist the lure of Miss Chantal. Her silky-smooth waist-length hair was as dark as her haunting round eyes, set a little too far apart in her heart-shaped face . . .
At night you lie awake, kept up by the sounds of running feet and children’s eerie laughter . . .
Men is stupid creatures, you know. Anyone ask, tell them La-La say that . . .
This was the ninth time for the week she had noticed it: a splitting migraine . . .
We all sneezed. Or maybe I just sneezed, but we all looked away at exactly the same time and, at exactly the same time, looked back . . .