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In a locket from the cave. I learned about the symbols through it, more so than the scrawls in the cave. An unusual keepsake. Gimme room. You okay? I'm gonna be alright, I slurred, not really sure about it. I tried to turn and walk to my right, but stumbled. In case anyone might be thinking of rushing in to steady me I yelled, Stay away! To my left I saw a very young girl in a light blue dress, so small she seemed puppet-like, rushing as fast as her little feet could carry her toward the corner of my building a few hundred yards away. The front screen door of the apartment on that end of the building opened--it was Martha Jane's door--and the girl and two other kids were animatedly talking to her and pointing toward me. Other kids were rushing in from across the lawn, toward the Marble Court where I stood caked with tan dust, lightly dripping blood down my green plaid flannel shirt. My rage swelled, ignited, exploded. Not only had someone beat the hell out of me, but now every kid and mother and everyone else in sight was going to see me stumbling and bleeding. My eyes clouded with dust, I saw Martha Jane go to the little girl, take her hand, and start running toward me male rape pictures. Her mother's face appeared at the screen door and peered out at us anxiously. I was enraged at being doubly mortified, at being beaten and being seen beaten. It was too late for anyone to squelch the primal force that overtook me so quickly. I stumbled toward the grove of hedges and began tearing away at one of the shrubs, ripping it apart, looking for a club, a stick, anything with which to strike male rape pictures at anything else. I heard myself scream incoherently, a long, throat-scalding yell.

I grasped at the shrubs, throwing ripped-off leaves and twigs everywhere. I encircled one shrub in a superhuman effort to pull it from the ground.