The Rewrite
p at all. Not e
hts moved over the empty sand and the closed carnival rides. The ocean was a big, black space on my right. my h
ned gray. I found myself back at the hotel p
n the car, watch, and wait. But when the clock on my das
seven, the desk
to pull me in. I don't know why I got out of the car. Maybe I was angry. Maybe I wa
food table against the far wall. I saw trays of steami
she had stayed there all night. Her glasses were perfect on her no
g, Ms. Hart
sounded rough as I spoke.
e my question was funny to her. "We
"I didn't give you my ID. I di
almly, "you are stayi
ed into my skin. "I want to know what is happening. Tell me a
d just a little bit
ting loud. "Who is taking them? How do they kn
hands neatly on the desk. Her eyes became sh
have come here,"
e a punch to my s
olds back on itself," she said. "Thi
took a step back.
e photos are a warning. You think they are a thre
ed. "Documentat
sions,"
e a splinter in my
Hart. It does not move in a straight line. It writes itself like a book. It edits. It correc
I felt sick. "T
taken before you lived them. You have photos of things that were erased. Would you like me to lie to you? Would
But you already k
hroat felt as dry as a de
, she looked human. I though
them soon eno
The sunlight was too bright and too sharp. "No
ut her next words m
n told, Ms. Hart. You
bbed the counter to keep from
n the wall. "It means you
hat I almost laughed. I a
photo sitting on t
y life that the counter was empty. But now it was
t up with
y. I had a plate of eggs and toast in front of
The date on the b
if it were on fire. I
She looked very peaceful. "See?
nic. "I don't want this!
s time, her voice was s
ver does,
my backpack and my legs were shaking. I had to get out before I collap
a wall. My car was sitting in the lot, but I didn't go t
e sand. It never stopped. A sound came out of
d in my head: They are do
that a small part