Blue on Blue

Chapter Seventeen

Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. The thoughts won't stop scratching at the places where the questions live. Maggie presses her pen against the notebook paper. 

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

I pushed Eli into the truth or was it lies? 

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

Mary Stone chased after the truth. Or was she chasing lies? 

This itch inside my head. This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

To what end? To what end? This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head. This itch inside my head. To what end? This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. 

Toooo. Whattt. Enddd. 

Toooo. Whattt. Enddd. 

TooooWhatttEnddd 

TooooWhatttEnddd 

TooooWhatttEndddTooooWhatttEnddd

TooooWhatttEndddTooooWhatttEnddd

TooooWhatttEnddTooooWhatttEnddd 

"A-hem. Margaret?" Maggie shakes her head and snaps her eyes from her notebook to the front of the classroom. Mr. Barnstable twists his mustache. "Do you have anything to add?"

"Add?"

"Yes, to the conversation."

"The conversation?"

"We were talking about Blake's poems, 'The Tyger and The Lamb'." Mr. Barnstable points to a boy in the next row. "Jason here was commenting on how similar the poems are to one another. What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts?" 

He nods. 

She drops her head to her notebook again, her eyes focus on the letters D-R-E-A-D, scribbled across the page.

"Margaret, your thoughts." 

"The poems left me with questions." She reaches for the gold cross and smooths it between her fingers.

"Go on," Mr. Barnstable prods.

"The tiger is beautiful, but dangerous –- a destroyer. The lamb is meek and pure –- blameless. Did the same hand that created the destroyer also create the lamb? Why would a creator create a being capable of such destruction? What sort of creator would do such a thing?" 

Mr. Barnstable gives a slow nod and pushes his hand through his comb over. His mouth melts into a smile. "Very good, Margaret. Very good." 

Jason speaks up. "I thought it was just a kid's nursery rhyme!" 

The class laughs.

Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Maggie shrugs and presses her pen against her notebook.

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head. To what end? This itch inside my head.

When the dismissal bell rings, Mr. Barnstable waves Maggie over to his desk as the other students clear the room. He flashes his gapped tooth grin. "You seem ..." his mouth turns sideways, "out of sorts. Is everything okay?" 

Her face flushes. Her eyes focus on the piece of gum stuck to the floor. 

Mr. Barnstable folds his arms across his chest and leans against his desk. "I know Eli is a good friend of yours. It must be hard not having him here."